


Suck It Up

by strangeandcharm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bloodplay, Character Turned Into Vampire, Dominance, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Power Imbalance, Vampire Dean Winchester, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 05:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandcharm/pseuds/strangeandcharm
Summary: Dean gets turned into a vampire; Sam and Castiel meet their match.IMPORTANT: This is not a new fic. It was written in 2009, between seasons four and five, when Lucifer had only just been released from Hell - and the events of "Live Free And Twihard" were still a few seasons away. This is a repost from my Dreamwidth account. New fic will hopefully be forthcoming soon, but I've decided to pop older ones on AO3 as I get the chance!





	1. Chapter 1

~ ~ ~

Dean just needs a few more days, that’s all. Days.

After that… well, he knows what he has to do, although he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to do it. He’ll probably have to ask Castiel to do it… or even Sam, if everything goes to plan and he gets him back. Dean’s starting to feel like he won’t be able to do it himself.

Self-preservation is, apparently, a big thing with vampires.

He’s days away from finding Sam and the blood’s boiling in his veins. The bite on his neck is long gone, as are all the broken bones and the bruises from his final fight with the vampire, but the hunger… the hunger never goes away. He drives through the day and he drives through the night, able to stay awake longer than he’s ever managed before, barring his time in Hell. He knows he’ll be heading back there in a few days, and the thought doesn’t scare him as much as it should because this time he’ll already be a monster when he arrives.

He’s so _hungry._

By the second night he can’t take it any more. He wants to eat so badly he knows he’s going to kill someone and the thought isn’t repelling him as it should. He’s losing control; he’s giving in to the newly-awakened demon within. It’s all he can do to concentrate on his mission, to focus on _finding Sam_ , and even that’s becoming impossible as his hunger becomes even more important than his brother, or the fact that Sam is with Lucifer and Lucifer wants to destroy the world.

Dean pulls up the car and climbs out in the middle of nowhere. The moon is full and there’s a copse of trees up on the crest of a nearby hill that he decides to investigate. He has some random, half-formed notion that maybe he could catch a rabbit or a raccoon or something, _anything_ to slake this thirst for warm, fresh blood. But there’s nothing there, and the hunger surges inside him as he tries to figure out what to do next.

It’s difficult. Now he understands why Gordon Walker hadn’t been able to control it; why he’d gone so loco. Why anybody bitten by a vampire ends up homicidal. How do you fight an urge that’s so strong it’s as important as breathing?

He closes his eyes, trying to shut out the chaos. He can see too much, now. He can hear too much. His ears are so attuned to the world around him that he hears an owl ripping apart a rat in a tree above his head. Its beak keeps digging into the flesh, pulling, stretching, muscles and tendons ripping with a wet sound that makes Dean’s stomach roll. He wants to know how that feels. He wants to feel blood in his mouth; to hear the flutter of a heartbeat dying under his tongue. It’s instinct – a primal, insatiable urge he simply can’t deny.

“No,” he moans in weary defiance, and he falls to his knees on the grass. “This isn’t me. It _isn’t._ Oh God, I can’t do this. I can’t do this… Sam…”

There’s a faint whisper of air against his cheek and a hand falls on his shoulder. He jerks away, stunned, because he should have heard them coming; should have sensed a presence beside him. His senses are magnified now – nothing should be able to sneak up on him. “Dean,” says Castiel, and Dean gets why he hadn’t known he was there. He wasn’t, until just then.

And then… and then he feels a rush of overwhelming, breathtaking anger and he launches himself at the angel, knocking him flat on his back on the earth. He pounces on him, straddling his waist with his legs as he punches him on the jaw so hard it surprises him as much as it surprises Castiel. It doesn’t hurt this time: he feels flesh give against his knuckles and hears his victim grunt in pain, and for the first time since this happened he feels sickeningly proud of his new strength.

“Where were you, you son of a bitch?” he screams, shaking Castiel by his lapels. “Where were you when I needed you? Look at what I am now! Look at what happened! Why weren’t you there to stop him? _Why?_ ”

Castiel remains unmoving beneath him. His face is lit by moonlight and he looks about as near to distraught as Dean’s ever seen him look, which probably isn’t saying much. “I wasn’t allowed to interfere,” he says with something like regret in his voice; the sound of it makes Dean even more furious. “They stopped me, Dean. I tried to get to you but they protected you. They wanted this to happen to you, and they wrapped you in their spells so you were veiled from my sight. They’ve only just let me find you.”

“Who did? The angels?” Dean barks, shaking him again.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry. I would have done anything to help you but it was impossible. I’m so sorry this has happened…”

But Dean can’t hear him anymore; all he can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears. Castiel’s lip is bleeding, and Dean can smell the blood. He can _smell_ it, and it’s like fresh coffee or fresh-baked bread or apple pie or any number of incredible things he’s ever smelt in his life and wanted to sample right away, but it’s a million times stronger. It makes his body stiffen and his mouth fill with saliva; he feels warmth building inside him, an urge he can’t fight off. He wants that blood so much he will kill for it. He’ll tear an angel apart with his bare hands if he has to.

Castiel has other ideas. He seems to know exactly what Dean is thinking and in one sinuous movement he’s thrown him to one side and jumped to his feet again, hands outstretched before him in warning. Dean hits the ground and lurches upright in return, snarling, sounding so much like an animal that something inside him shatters at the noise, but he can’t stop to dwell on it.

“Dean,” Castiel says, a warning clear in his voice. “I know what you want, but first you have to listen to me.”

Dean can’t speak. He couldn’t speak even if he wanted to because suddenly his mouth has filled with teeth that certainly weren’t there when he was born, teeth so sharp he feels them pricking at his lips, but teeth he welcomes because they’re just another means of getting to the blood. He lunges at Castiel, so quickly he puts a human to shame, but the angel grips him by the wrists and forces him to his knees with so much strength that Dean howls in frustration.

“Listen to me!” Castiel barks, and Dean stills, panting, staring up at the blood on his companion’s lip as though it holds the answer to life itself. “I know what you are, Dean, and I know how you feel right now.”

Dean growls, knowing damn well that Castiel knows _nothing._

“You have to focus on finding your brother and stopping Lucifer. Nothing else is more important than this task. What’s happened to you…” Castiel stops, squeezing Dean’s wrists even tighter in a gesture Dean assumes is support, though he simply hisses in response. “I don’t know why this is your path, Dean, but I’m willing to help you follow it.”

“Help me how?” Dean asks, teeth sliding back above his gums as his rational brain tries to decipher Castiel’s words. “How the fuck can you help me, Cas? I need you to cut my head off! I need you to find Sam and stop Lucifer! I can’t do it now – how can I? How can I, when I’m like this?”

Castiel releases him, and Dean falls backwards onto his heels. They regard each other warily for a moment, and then Castiel pulls off his coat. Dean watches, puzzled, as he yanks off his tie and loosens his collar. Then it hits him and he starts to laugh, the sound faintly hysterical in his throat.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he spits out. “You _want_ me to bite you? Is this really that fucking easy?”

“My blood will sustain you until you find them,” Castiel says with infuriating calmness. “It’s all I can do to help you.” He pulls open his shirt and bares his neck.

Dean feels a flutter of excitement in his already churning stomach and a soft whimper leaves his lips. For an instant he contemplates what’s about to happen, and he understands what it will mean. “Cas… this is…”

“Just do it, Dean,” Castiel commands him, his face devoid of any emotion as he falls to his knees. “You must save the world from Lucifer, and this is the price I must pay to ensure you do so.”

Dean is on him a second later, a predator felling its prey. Teeth that aren’t really his sink into Castiel’s neck so easily it’s almost as though they’re meant to be there; Castiel doesn’t even shudder, not even when Dean pushes him onto his back and flattens out on top of him, fastening himself on his jugular vein like a leech. Blood floods into his mouth and he moans in unashamed ecstasy as his tastebuds explode; his whole body starts to tingle, toes curling in his shoes as a furnace-like heat travels from his tongue to every nerve-ending. There are no words for how incredible the liquid feels inside him: it’s like an orgasm, like the most amazing thing he’s ever known, like he’s able to breathe again after a week spent underwater. He sucks and sucks at the vein with a passion beyond hunger, fingers digging helplessly into Castiel’s arms at the sensation, and several minutes pass before his head clears enough to register what he’s doing.

Even then, he doesn’t stop.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, after a while. His voice is faint and his breath tickles Dean’s ear. “That’s… enough.”

Dean ignores him; he bites even harder, seeking out more. Castiel’s hands move to his chest and push at him weakly, but Dean refuses to give up his prize. “Dean,” Castiel says again, firmer this time, but the word has no effect. Fingers clutch at Dean’s shirt and the body beneath his struggles a little.

Somehow, Dean is stronger. The realization isn’t one he registers as _Dean_ ; the knowledge strikes him as it would a wild animal. He is the alpha male here: he’s the one in control. He has brought down his prey and it’s his in every way. He is powerful. He is strong. It’s thrilling. It’s consuming. It’s _sexual._ A growl rumbles in the back of his throat as he rubs his crotch against Castiel’s, feeling himself hardening – with his partner’s blood, not his own – and as his thoughts turn from _hunger_ to _lust_ he completely forgets he was ever human. He’s a vampire, and vampires live for two things: blood and sex.

Castiel struggles again, fruitlessly. Dean sucks harder, the blood not as thick as it was; he can feel his victim’s heartbeat quicken, signalling that his heart is struggling to pump its limited supplies. Castiel isn’t human, of course, but his body is, and Dean is draining it dry. But he’s finally growing full, as evidenced by the fact that all his pleasure is moving downwards to his cock. He ruts against his partner lasciviously, delighting in the friction, realizing that his eyesight and hearing aren’t the only senses heightened by his new condition. Out of breath, he releases Castiel’s neck and pants against his shoulder for a while, his hips jerking up and down as though they have a mind of their own.

“Dean,” gasps Castiel breathlessly. He can’t move: his hands are trapped between their bodies. He’s totally helpless, pinned by Dean’s weight, by his new-found strength, by his lust. No way is he going anywhere unless Dean lets him. Empowered by the knowledge, Dean lifts his head and stares into his eyes, a wicked smile playing on his bloody lips.

“Guess it seemed like a good idea at the time, huh?” he says throatily, even as a little voice at the back of his mind shrieks that _Dean_ wouldn’t treat Castiel this way. _Dean_ wouldn’t treat anybody this way.

Castiel meets his gaze without flinching. There’s nothing in his eyes: no panic, no concern, nothing. Dean can see him perfectly in the darkness and he’s deathly pale, the kind of a pale a human should never be. But he seems fine, if a little out of breath, and Dean frowns at him. “What does it take to kill you, anyway?” he grunts. “There’s barely a drop left in you and you’re fine.”

Castiel shakes his head, not breaking eye contact. “I’m not fine, Dean,” he says softly. “None of this is fine. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

The pity in his voice drives Dean nuts. He responds without thinking, dropping his lips to Castiel’s and biting at them cruelly; Castiel moans, his body spasming. The reaction makes Dean’s dick even harder and he grinds against him, biting again.

And then, to his amazement, Castiel pulls his hands out from beneath his chest with an almighty effort and wraps his arms around Dean’s back, pulling him closer. Fingers rake through his hair and a palm settles on his neck, holding him tight, while the other hand slides down to rest on Dean’s ass, squeezing it tightly as it moves. Dean snarls in surprise, completely shocked, but then Castiel bends his knees and spreads his legs, allowing Dean more access to his groin, and the snarl turns into a sudden, unexpected laugh.

“You kinky son of a bitch,” he huffs against his lips. “You’re fucking enjoying this!”

“You,” Castiel whispers, closing his eyes. “It’s _you_. Underneath everything, you’re still _Dean._ ”

Dean feels a rush of… something. He doesn’t know what. Humanity, maybe? Guilt? But it passes quickly and he laughs again, licking blood from his lips as he realizes he’s close to coming. “You dumb bastard,” he hisses, thrusting hard, feeling Castiel’s thighs squeezing against his flanks. “You have… no idea… what I am now.”

“You’re Sam’s brother,” says Castiel quietly. “And you are going to save the world.”

Dean comes, but he doesn’t enjoy it.

Castiel’s words ring through him like he’s a bell that’s just been struck. They resonate somewhere deep inside, somewhere down below all the vampire hunger, and as he climaxes he moans in bewilderment as he tastes the blood in his mouth. Angel blood. Stronger and more potent than human blood; the kind of sustenance no vampire should ever use as fuel. _Good_ blood.

Holy.

Everything goes black for a while, and when he comes to his senses he’s in Castiel’s arms and the angel is brushing gentle fingers through his hair.

“You can do this,” he’s saying, over and over, in a voice so soft it’s almost a caress. “You can do this, Dean. You can do this.”

Dean feels the strength of a vampire suffusing his body, but his mind is fully human.

And it wants one thing: to find Sam.

 

~ ~ ~

 


	2. Chapter 2

~ ~ ~

 

Sam kicked out as hard as he could, hearing the chain-link fence rattle around him as his body twisted in the ropes. He leant into it, using it as leverage against his back as he aimed with his feet, grateful that Lucifer had at least left his legs untied. For all the good it would do him in the long run; he would bleed to death long before that.

The bite on his leg throbbed as he moved, but he ignored it. He was too busy trying to stop the wolves from taking chunks out of the rest of him.

Untouched, the wolf padded away from him, turning to stare from a safe distance away. Sam had managed to kick one of them this morning; a young wolf, little more than a cub, and it was still limping. Wolves weren’t stupid, learning from their mistakes and from errors made by the others in their pack, and they’d treated him differently since then. Warily. He was no longer just prey: he could fight back. Now they were trying another tactic. They were simply waiting for him to die.

Sam glanced down at his blood-soaked thigh and back up at the wolf, meeting its yellow-eyed gaze with as much dominance as he could muster. They were different species, yes, but Sam was a damn sight bigger and could be threatening when he wanted to be. Unfortunately, the wolf merely sat down on its haunches and yawned, and the sight of its teeth sent a chill down Sam’s back that had nothing to do with the frigid air.

He pulled on his ropes again, feeling them sodden and scratchy against the skin of his raw wrists. His arms ached. His leg ached. He was exhausted and soaked through with the unceasing miserable, misty rain that drenched the forest; he suspected he was probably a little hypothermic by now. He’d been here all night and the midday sun was too weak to chase away the clouds and warm him up. The blood soaking into the material of his jeans was long-cold.

Sam shivered and looked around him, always wary that one of the wolves was creeping up on him from the side, but most of them were a few hundred feet away, chowing down on what was left of their keeper. Sam didn’t really have any sympathy to spare for him, not when he was in such a state himself. And the man had died quickly at Lucifer’s hand anyway. He hadn’t suffered. One quick twist and his neck had broken. Sam was almost envious, except that he knew he’d get out of this. Dean would come for him, because Dean always did. He’d find him somehow. He had to.

He saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see the wolf in front of him had risen to its feet and taken a step forward. “Get back,” Sam growled at it, rattling the fence furiously. “Get away!”

The wolf sat down again. It stared at him solemnly, then lifted a leg and scratched itself. It looked like a dog, like Sam should be able to pet it and tickle its tummy, but it was anything but. Even here in the reserve, these wolves weren’t tame. And they stank, too: no dog ever smelt so bad. The smell, more than anything else, reminded Sam that he was in trouble. These were wild creatures who were going to get hungrier and hungrier as the hours passed and they weren’t fed. The keeper would fill their bellies for a few days, but after that? Sam was fresh meat. He’d never be able to fend them off, even if he didn’t bleed out first, or freeze to death, or succumb to thirst or shock.

Sam had to hand it to Lucifer: when he’d told him he was going to throw him to the wolves, he hadn’t been kidding.

Everybody who worked at the reserve was dead. Sam wondered where their families were; why nobody had alerted the police last night when their loved ones hadn’t come home. The fact the place was still deserted worried him to death – Lucifer must have taken care of anybody who could raise the alarm. That meant countless families and friends, the local police force… hell, maybe even the whole _town_. This was a mountain settlement and sparsely inhabited. There’d been enough demons hanging around their master to make mass slaughter a possibility.

_All those people…_

Sam fought the urge to close his eyes in despair. All because of _him_. He’d brought Lucifer into the world in the first place. Even without that, the only reason Lucifer had come to this town, and killed all these people, was because of Sam. He’d wanted to tempt him, talk him into joining his cause; murdering the staff of the reserve in front of him after Sam had refused. Lucifer didn’t take rejection well, it seemed. A few thousand years in Hell was probably enough to make anybody a little cranky.

The wolf was on its feet again. Sam glared at it, fighting exhaustion, trying to look as though he was a match for its teeth and claws. It studied him for a while before looking across at the rest of its pack, who – to Sam’s horror – were padding this way. Their muzzles were stained with blood. Only the cubs stayed with the body of the keeper, chewing on bones and playing with the tattered remnants of his clothing.

“Get away!” Sam shouted, rattling the fence again. Two of the wolves skittered away, scared, but the other six simply came closer. The one standing in front of Sam stretched, licking its lips, and Sam was struck by how nonchalant it was.

It had reason to be. Sam could kick and struggle as much as he wanted, but all it would take was one quick bite to the throat and he was dead. All they had to do was get close enough.

Three of the wolves crept nearer, and as Sam lashed out at them with his feet they looked almost disdainful as they dodged. One moved closer to the fence and into Sam’s blind spot, apparently realizing that its prey couldn’t kick it at a ninety-degree angle. He tried, though, bucking and thrashing on the fence, making as much noise as he could manage in a vain attempt to freak it out. One of the females backed away with a small, startled growl, but the other wolves stayed in place, staring at him thoughtfully.

The one by Sam’s side stepped closer, and Sam knew it was gearing up to pounce. Its eyes were fixed on his throat. _Not like this,_ he thought frantically, shouting gibberish at it while trying to keep his eyes on the rest of the pack. _I don’t want to die like this. This is pointless. This isn’t how I should go. I haven’t made up for my mistakes yet. I haven’t…_

The wolf jumped. Sam twisted his body away, desperately trying to shield his neck, but instead of teeth and fur and claws there was simply the sound of a gunshot, a yelp and a whole lot of noise. He opened his eyes, panting, and saw the wolves running to the far side of their enclosure. One of them lay twitching on the ground at his feet, blood leaking slowly from its neck.

“Sam!”

_Dean._ Sam gasped in a breath of relief and closed his eyes, sending up a prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening. He opened them again and saw his brother running towards him through a hole in the fence that hadn’t been there a moment ago, his shotgun trained on the other wolves. His expression was one of absolute fury and, just for a second, Sam felt his heart lurch in fear. _I’m glad he’s on my side,_ he thought wildly.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean demanded, his eyes still fixed on the wolves as he drew closer.

“I am now,” Sam said, and it wasn’t until he’d heard the croak in his voice that he realized how hard he must have been yelling at the wolves to keep away from him. “You have the best timing _ever,_ man.”

Dean stopped dead. He looked at him, blinking, and his eyes dropped to Sam’s thigh and stayed there. He didn’t move. He just stared, his face paling by the second.

“What? What is it?”

Dean raised his eyes to meet his with what looked like a massive effort. “Sammy…” he said brokenly, and licked his lips.

Now that Sam was staring at him fully he could see that his brother looked… odd. He was way too pale, the freckles on his nose standing out perfectly against his skin. His eyes seemed darker and his breathing… his breathing was _off._ Sam frowned, puzzled, and as they stared at each other both of them forgot about the wolves.

Luckily, Dean had brought back-up.

“Do not _move,_ ” a voice said firmly. Startled, Sam flicked his gaze to the side to see Castiel standing in front of the pack with his hand stretched out before him. The wolves, who had clearly been rallying for a second attack on Sam and their new visitor, froze in place. Every single one of them stared up at Castiel submissively, like he was some kind of god; it was creepy, unnatural, and Sam found he had to swallow hard at the sight. When Castiel moved his hand slightly and the wolves all turned tail and trotted away, it wasn’t even a shock.

“Could’ve done with a wolf-whisperer this morning,” Sam grunted, turning back to Dean. “One of them got–” He stopped. Dean was still staring at his leg, his mouth open and his eyes shining. He hadn’t even glanced at Castiel. He looked nothing like himself, and Sam shivered under his gaze.

“Dean?” he asked, his voice shaking. “What’s going on with you?”

Castiel was at his side a second later. Sam hadn’t seen him approach but there he was, snapping the ropes without the merest effort and supporting him when his full weight hit his injured leg and he gasped in pain. The angel pulled Sam’s arm around his shoulders firmly, his body warm and solid against him, and he was so strong he almost took Sam’s breath away.

But this was wrong, because _Dean_ was the one who should be…

“We need to talk,” Castiel said quietly. “Dean, stay here. Mend the fence. Keep the wolves from escaping and killing the rest of the people in this town.”

Dean was _still_ staring at Sam’s leg, his expression unfathomable. He took a step closer, and something about him reminded Sam eerily of the wolves.

“ _Dean!_ ” Castiel snapped, making Sam jump, and his brother finally blinked out of his reverie and looked up.

“Wolves. Fence. Check.” He sniffed, looking away. “God, it stinks in here. How can anything smell so bad and not be dead?”

“Dean? Are you okay?” Sam could hear the pleading in his voice, but he was too tired and freaked-out to care.

Dean didn’t look at him. He stared across at the body of the keeper and actually _smiled._ “Never better, Sammy,” he said breezily, and started to walk towards the wolves. He dropped the shotgun and Sam struggled against Castiel’s grip, shouting after him in a panic.

Castiel dug his fingers into Sam’s arm. “Easy,” he said, and then they were standing in a motel room and Dean was nowhere in sight.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“How could you just leave him there? What the hell is going on, Cas?”

Castiel’s face was drawn. He didn’t answer him; he merely pushed him down into a chair and vanished into the bathroom. He returned with wet cloths and a medical kit, then pulled off his coat and jacket and rolled up his sleeves before kneeling before Sam in one fluid, determined motion.

Sam was breathing heavily; everything was happening too quickly after so many hours of solitude. “Cas! Don’t ignore me! What the… _ah!_ ”

He grimaced as Castiel ripped the leg of his jeans open in one quick burst, bottom to top, then tugged the material until it gave way, exposing the bite-wound. He did it so matter-of-factly that for a moment Sam failed to be awed at his strength; nobody should be able to rip denim apart so easily. Then he hissed in a breath of pain as Castiel started to clean up the wound, realizing he needed to hang onto something to steady himself and bending forward until he was clutching the angel’s shoulder. He squeezed harder than he meant to, but Castiel didn’t flinch.

“Keep still, Sam.”

“Could you be… _fuck!_...a little gentler? That… _ow!_ …really hurts!”

Castiel’s hands stilled and he looked up at Sam solemnly. “Sorry.”

Sam took advantage of their eye contact. “What’s wrong with Dean? Why did you leave him?”

Castiel’s gaze flicked down to the floor. When he looked back up again, his expression was carefully neutral. “He was attacked by a vampire.”

Sam stared at him, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin. “What? Attacked how?”

Castiel’s face remained impassive. “He was turned, Sam. He is not wholly your brother any more. There was nothing I could do. I’m sorry.”

If Sam hadn’t just witnessed Dean acting so strangely he wouldn’t have believed it. He would have pushed Castiel away. Cursed at him. Told him he was a liar, that he was crazy, that Dean would never, ever let himself be changed like that. But Dean had been _different_ , and Sam had sensed it even before he’d even known the truth, and the knowledge was enough to silence him while his body succumbed to the shock. He didn’t move; just sat there, staring off into space while Castiel bent his head and carried on cleaning out the wound.

“What happened?” he asked eventually, amazed that his lips could even form words.

“The vampire defeated him and forced him to drink its blood.”

Castiel’s voice was so emotionless that Sam found himself digging his fingers into his shoulder, as though hurting him would elicit a response that would make him more human. Nothing happened.

“Dean wouldn’t have let himself be changed,” Sam said, his voice wavering. “He would’ve… killed himself, rather than face that.”

“He wanted to.” Castiel didn’t look up. “But you were missing, and he had to find you. And he must defeat Lucifer, so I helped him.”

Sam blinked at him, trying to figure out how to _feel_. Castiel began to wipe the blood from his leg with a cloth.

“You left him there,” Sam said tightly, after a few minutes. “Why did you leave him there?”

“He scented your blood.” Castiel’s voice was firm, but Sam could sense an underlying tension in his tone. “There was no way he could have come with us while you were still bleeding. He wouldn’t have been able to control himself around you.”

Sam was still trying to take it all in. “But he’s… he’s _Dean_ …”

“No, Sam.” Castiel looked up, holding him with his gaze. He waited for a long moment, then placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He can still be Dean at times, yes. But you were bleeding. Blood is the most important thing in the world to a vampire, over family, over friendship, over love – everything. He would not have been able to stop himself from attacking you. The smell of it… the sight of it… he would have been helpless. The longer he was near you, the hungrier he would have become. He needed another outlet for his hunger.”

Sam frowned. “Another outlet?”

Castiel licked his lips, hesitating. “The wolves, Sam. He will have killed them by now. Whether he feeds on them or not, he will have enjoyed the fight. When he gets here, he’ll be calmer. And you will no longer be bleeding. You’ll be safe.”

“But… you told him to mend the fence… you didn’t say…” Sam’s thought processes weren’t really up to much right now, but he remembered that. Castiel shook his head, and for the first time Sam saw grief in his eyes.

“That was for your benefit, Sam. He knew I was fully aware of his bloodlust, and the wolves were a sacrifice. They would have been shot anyway, once the police had investigated the town and discovered they’d eaten a human.” He looked away, towards the door to the motel room. “He’s different now, Sam. The old Dean would never have let someone else break such news to you. This Dean… he doesn’t care. He still loves you, you can be assured of that, but he’s _different._ ”

Sam shuddered. With no warning, his stomach rolled and suddenly he knew he was going to puke. By the time he bent over there was already a trashcan positioned under his chin and, much to his surprise, Castiel’s hand flattened comfortingly on his back as he vomited.

Being sick was never the nicest of sensations, and coupled with the bloodloss and the cold and everything else he’d gone through over the last week while Lucifer had held him prisoner, it should have been unbearable. But he barely even noticed – all he could think was _Dean, no._

“You need rest,” Castiel said when Sam had finished. He handed him a cloth and watched as he wiped his mouth with it, then picked up a bottle of water and loosened the cap for him. Sam stared at it listlessly, panting.

“Can you cure him?” he asked, and it was the most important question in the world.

Castiel handed him the bottle, and Sam noticed that his hand was shaking. “No.”

After that, Sam remembered very little.

 

~ ~ ~

 

When he woke up again Dean was sitting by his bed and Castiel was standing in a corner of the room watching them both. It took Sam a moment to figure out what had happened – and shit, his leg _hurt_ – but the fact that Dean was there, looking like his old self, made him wonder if it had all been a dream.

“Dean?” he croaked, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Dean’s eyes tracked the movement, and Sam winced as he noticed the scrapes on his wrists from the ropes. Dean couldn’t seem to stop staring, so Sam slipped his hand under the blankets and swallowed hard.

_It was true. This was really happening._

“Cas told you, huh?”

His brother sounded totally normal, and there was even some humor in his tone. Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Dean sat back, scratching at his neck idly. “Weirdest fuckin’ thing,” he announced conversationally. “I was freaking out at first, but now it all feels pretty normal. I feel like myself, only I’m like the Six Million Dollar Man – better, stronger, faster. You wouldn’t believe the shit I can do now, Sammy. I can hear stuff and see stuff like I’ve never known before.” He grinned, and his teeth hadn’t changed, although Sam knew there were more teeth in there, above his own. “And holy shit, the _smells_. It’s crazy, man.” He gestured behind him at Castiel. “Him? He smells of cheap cotton and crappy leather shoes. Guess he has Jimmy to thank for that. And you?” He sniffed the air; it was disarmingly comical. “You smell of bleach. Cas covered up the blood pretty well. He knows I get a little… distracted when I smell it.”

His grin widened, and Sam felt nausea stirring in his stomach again. He was so _Dean_ , and yet he wasn’t. There was something else there, too, something dark and wrong and completely and utterly inhuman.

“Dude. Chill.” Dean patted his arm fondly. “You look like you think I’m gonna rip your head off at any second.”

Sam frowned. “How do I know you won’t?”

Dean shrugged. “I won’t, as long as I’m happy and well-fed. I’m like one of those wolves now, Sam. Keep my bowl full and I’ll wag my tail. Take it away and I’ll tear your fuckin’ throat out.”

He was swearing more than he used to. For some reason, despite everything, that disturbed Sam the most. It was like Dean didn’t care what he said. He just said it without thinking. He’d lost his self-control, and his language was just the tip of the iceberg.

“Lenore,” Sam breathed quietly, sitting up while trying to keep the scratches on his wrists hidden. “Lenore and her friends – they drank cow’s blood. Maybe that’s what you could do? You don’t have to kill people, Dean. There’s still hope.”

And with that, it occurred to him that he had no idea how long his brother had been a vampire, or what he’d been using as food. Had he already killed?

God, _no_.

Dean snorted. “You really think I’m gonna fight Lucifer after drinking moo juice, Sam? Fuck that. Lenore and her cronies were pitiful. I don’t know how they made it from day to day. I’ve got a better food supply, and I’m not givin’ it up for anybody.”

Sam stared at him, opening and closing his mouth, wanting desperately to ask _how many have you killed? Who were they?_ But then Dean glanced over at Castiel and smiled wolfishly, and Sam followed his gaze.

Castiel stared at them both, his expression unreadable, and suddenly Sam understood. “You?” he gasped, amazed. “You’ve been letting him drink your blood?”

Castiel licked his lips, looking a little awkward. “He hasn’t killed anybody,” he said simply. “And my blood keeps him focused.”

“I’d be out serial-killing every night if it wasn’t for Cas,” Dean declared brightly. “And Jesus, Sammy, you should taste it. Like the best fuckin’ thing you’ve ever had in your mouth. Don’t go looking all horrified, either, demon-boy. It’s not like you didn’t suck on Ruby for months on end. Guess it runs in the family, huh? I’m sure dad would be proud.”

Sam didn’t know what to say. He was still tired and a little groggy, and Dean’s flippancy was so unsettling he found it difficult to deal with. In the end he settled on a plaintive, “God, Dean…”

His brother met his eyes and his smile disappeared. “It’s still me, Sammy,” he said softly. “But I’m _better._ ”

 

~ ~ ~


	3. Chapter 3

~ ~ ~

Dean had no patience at all. None. The concept of _patience_ was as lost to him as _kindness_ and _sweetness_ and _piety_. Dean assumed that this was how animals went through the world: they saw something they wanted and they took it, end of. No hanging around waiting for events to unfold. No tolerating anything they didn’t like. It was all about them – making their own existence better, being comfortable, full-up, sated, happy. As far as he was concerned, this was how he should’ve been living his life until now. Thirty-odd years living it for other people was a goddamned waste.

He certainly had no patience now for Sam, and so he told him. “If you don’t stop moping, dude, I’m not gonna be held responsible for my actions.”

Sam stared at him with that now-familiar deer-in-the-headlights look and shook his head. “What do you expect, Dean?” he said, his voice still a little shaky despite the fact it had been three days – three fucking days, and still Sam couldn’t deal with it. “How the hell am I supposed to react when my brother gets turned into a vampire? What, you expect me to throw a party?”

Dean clapped his hands. “That’s what we need! A party! You get the beer, I’ll round up some chicks.” He frowned. “Though I don’t think I’ll need the beer. I got my own drink on-tap right here.”

He turned to Castiel, who, as always, stood silently in a corner watching them both. His hands were in his pockets and he was a picture of calm. Of _patience_. Dean was starting to hate him for it, but he needed him too much to tell him to get lost and leave him alone.

“Dean, this can’t go on. You know that, right?” Sam’s voice was soggy. Whiny.

He sighed, trying to hide his annoyance. “It’s alright, Sammy. I know the gameplan here. We hunt down Lucifer, you put me down afterwards. Got my future all mapped out, A-to-Z. There’s no need to get maudlin on me.”

He had no intention of letting Sam cut his head off, of course. None at all. Once Lucifer was dead, Dean was outta here. Let the angel take care of his brother; he was going on a one-vampire binge across the country to celebrate saving the world. As Zachariah said to him once, you can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs.

And it wasn’t as though Dean didn’t have a way of finding Lucifer all planned out anyway, but he was putting it off. Why speed up the inevitable?

“Don’t you get it, Dean?” Sam’s eyes were shining again. Jesus, what a girl. “Don’t you feel anything?”

“I feel everything.” Dean grinned. “You’ve got no fuckin’ clue what I feel, Sammy. I actually feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for all the humans. You don’t get what this feels like. I can’t believe we used to kill these sons-of-bitches, Sammy – we should’ve been _worshipping_ them.”

Sam’s eyes darted over to Castiel, probably seeking support. Dean looked too, and wasn’t surprised to see that the angel’s expression hadn’t changed one iota. “You two should get together and talk about me behind my back,” Dean observed. “Sammy can cry and Cas can wipe away the tears with his wings.” He clicked his fingers, pretending to remember something. “Oh, wait. That’s right. You can’t do anything behind my back. You have to keep me in sight at all times in case I run off and do something _bad_.”

Sam folded his arms. “Dean...”

“Maybe I _should_ run off and do something bad. Fuck, I’ve been like this for nearly two weeks now and all I’ve done is save your sorry ass from some wolves. Which wasn’t without its fun parts, true, but I need to get out there and have some more fun.”

He took a step towards the door. In the blink of an eye Castiel was blocking it. “No,” said the angel, taking his hands out of his pockets, and the deadly seriousness of his voice made Dean laugh out loud.

“Dude, you take your guard dog duties way too seriously. Come on, man. We can all go. It’s nearly midnight – there’ll be some bar in this shitty little town filled with women who want to go home with a hot date or two. We could have an orgy.” He poked Castiel in the chest. “There’re bound to be some guys, too, if that’s what floats your heavenly boat.”

Sam suddenly had a hand on his arm. “Dean, stop it. You’re not going out. You’re out of control, and you know it. We can’t let you.”

The urge to take his brother’s wrist and twist his hand off was strong, but Dean restrained himself. This was Sam. A lot had changed recently, true, and Dean didn’t care what he did most of the time, but even when Sam was being a douche he didn’t deserve to be punished for it. Dean was a vampire, he knew that. But thanks to the steadying influence of Castiel’s blood, he did at least have a few morals left hanging on for dear life. Even if they only related to his brother.

He shook himself free of Sam’s grip and turned to smile at him. “It’s alright, Sammy,” he said in his smoothest tone – the one he knew sounded the most like his old self. There was an answering flicker of hope in Sam’s eyes. “I won’t go anywhere if you don’t want me to. Not tonight, anyway.”

“Good,” Sam said gently, and Jesus, the poor lug thought he’d been the one to convince him. It would be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.

Dean stretched, backing away from the door, before frowning as he felt a wave of weakness wash over him. He glanced up at Castiel. “I’m hungry. Feed me, Seymour!”

Castiel lowered his head for an instant before turning to open the door. “Outside,” he ordered, and waited for Dean to follow him. Dean watched, amused. _Smug bastard won’t even turn his back on me and Sam for a second. Thinks I’m gonna rip Sam’s heart out._ The thought tickled him.

“You don’t... You don’t have to go outside.” Sam’s voice was the epitome of ‘strained’. “You always go somewhere, but I don’t mind... watching. It’s just... food, isn’t it?”

Dean patted him on the back. “Bless you, little Sammy. You’re tryin’ so hard to be big and brave here, aren’t ya? You think you can handle watching me feed? You probably could. It’s not like you haven’t sucked on a vein or two yourself.” He leant in close to his ear and Sam flinched. “But it’s not the blood that should worry you, Sammy. I got more than one kind of hunger, and Castiel just can’t say no to me.”

He strode out of the room, knowing he’d just boggled Sam’s mind, and pretended not to notice as Castiel’s gaze fell upon him reproachfully.

Fuck, it felt good to be in control for once.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Telling Bobby was the hardest thing Sam had had to face in a long while. Dean was like a son to him, but Bobby was a hunter through-and-through, and all hunters knew that vampires needed to be killed. Maybe not Lenore and her friends, as they seemed to be a special case, but Dean wasn’t like them. He was borderline pathological. He had urges he could barely control – and worse, didn’t seem to _want_ to control. And they were growing stronger every day.

Sam had no idea what was in Castiel’s blood, but he had a feeling if Dean was snacking on humans right now, he wouldn’t have given a damn about his brother or killing Lucifer or anything else. He’d be nothing more than an animal. Something about the angel was keeping him contained, but only just.

The more Sam thought about it, the more he figured it had something to do with Hell. From what he knew, Dean had all but turned into an animal down there. Up here, he was doing it again. It was already in him. He was still Dean, somewhere deep down and buried, but he was a monster too. Like he was possessed by a demon, but one that couldn’t be cast out.

“You know what you gotta do, son, don’t you?”

Bobby’s voice was filled with weariness. He’d fallen silent when Sam had told him the news and it had taken him a long time to even ask _how_. This was really something Sam should have told him face-to-face, but he was on the other side of the country and they were in contact with Bobby far too much these days to go on pretending nothing was wrong.

“He’s determined to bring down Lucifer,” Sam said quietly. “He says he’ll stick with us until then, and after that we can…” His voice trailed off, but Bobby understood.

“So he’s okay with it?” He sounded incredulous. “Seriously, Sam – are you so blind you really think he’ll hang around and just let you lop his head off?”

The words hurt. It was an almost physical pain. “Bobby, please,” Sam hissed, trying his damnedest not to scream down the phone at him.

“Sam, look…” Bobby paused, apparently trying to make his voice more sympathetic. He was ruthlessly pragmatic about so many things; it shouldn’t have surprised Sam to find he was just as practical about this. “Dean ain’t _Dean_ any more, you got that? He might be able to pull the wool over your eyes, not to mention the angel, but I’ve met too many vampires over the years and I know how devious they are. He wants to live, Sam. He won’t let you kill him. He’ll have a contingency plan… somethin’ you’re not expecting. He’ll give you guys the slip and suck on as many necks as he can until you catch him up again.”

Sam shook his head, even though Bobby couldn’t see him. “I hear you, I really do. But you don’t get it, Bobby. He’s drinking Castiel’s blood. It’s made him different to other vampires. He’s not quite… gone. Part of him’s still there, and I don’t think he’ll want to live like this forever.”

“You really think so, huh?”

“Yes.” Sam gulped, wishing he was as convinced as his voice sounded. There was a long, long silence, and then Bobby sighed.

“Jesus. Dean. Of all the crappy things to happen… That poor bastard.”

By the time he ended the call, Sam was pretty sure Bobby was crying.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Castiel was driving Dean _nuts_. “Come on, you fuckin’ tease,” he goaded the angel, trying to grab hold of his wrist and keep it still. But Castiel pulled it away from him, rolling down his shirt sleeve and leaning backwards, signaling that feeding time was over.

_Selfish bastard._

“How am I supposed to make it through the day on that, huh? What, are you rationing yourself or somethin’? I thought you could heal, Cas. It doesn’t matter how much I take, surely?”

“You have had enough.” Castiel dropped his arm and stared at him thoughtfully. “Your hunger is growing, Dean. You have to learn to control it.”

Dean was pissed and he wasn’t afraid to show it. “Yeah, like I need diet tips from you. You don’t even eat. You haven’t got a clue what it’s like to be hungry.” He smiled, licking his lips lasciviously, feeling his teeth slide back up above his gums. “I think you’re just enjoying this too much, and it scares you.”

“I don’t enjoy any of this, Dean.” Castiel’s face was blank and Dean wondered if he practiced that look in the mirror. “Do you think I enjoy having you drain me every day? Watching you act like an animal instead of the Dean Winchester I know?”

Dean shrugged. “You could always smite me. Funny how you’re not much with the smiting, isn’t it, Cas? Is it cause you like how I feel?” He ran a hand down the side of Castiel’s face, delighting in the tiny flinch it produced.

“You have a destiny, Dean,” Castiel said firmly. “I’m trying to steer you toward it. My feelings have nothing to do with anything.”

“Yeah, cause angels don’t even have feelings, do they?” Dean reached down and took Castiel’s hand. He lifted it to his mouth and licked his index finger, keeping his eyes fixed on Castiel’s face. “You can’t feel pain and you can’t feel pleasure. It doesn’t matter what I do, you can’t feel it.” He slipped the finger into his mouth, sucking on it carefully, trying to pretend he couldn’t feel the soft pulse of delicious blood under the skin.

“Dean, this is pointless.” But Castiel’s voice was strained, and his eyes were fixed on Dean’s mouth.

“It’s all pointless, isn’t it Cas?” Dean released him, skimming a hand down Castiel’s side, underneath his coat and his jacket, and letting it settle on his hip. “If you can’t feel anything, you might as well just let me do what I want. It’s not like you could ever enjoy it, but I know I would.”

“This isn’t you. You’re a vampire now. That’s driving you to do this. The Dean I knew…”

“The Dean you knew wanted this too, and don’t you fuckin’ know it!” Dean’s voice was suddenly harsh. “You were all pious and righteous and holier-than-me, pretending you couldn’t feel it. But now you’ve actually got an excuse to let me touch you and you’re swearing it doesn’t turn you on. Well, screw you, Castiel-angel-of-the-motherfuckin’-Lord. I know what you’re thinking. I always knew what you were thinking. The old Dean was a pussy but the new Dean is doin’ something about it.”

He grabbed a fistful of Castiel’s hair and pulled him to his mouth, kissing him hungrily. Castiel’s body stiffened and he stood shock-still, allowing Dean to enter his mouth with his tongue, to suck on his lips, to bite gently at his skin. Dean closed the distance between them until their bodies were pressed tightly together and lifted his leg, hooking it around Castiel’s from behind. He was just preparing to use it to overbalance him so they could both hit the ground when Castiel suddenly snarled and pushed him away.

Dean wiped his mouth, grinning. “What’s the matter, Cas? Scared of having a little fun?”

He had fantastic reflexes now, but they still weren’t quite fast enough to allow him to dodge the fist that came flying at his jaw. The impact sent him tumbling to his knees with a grunt, but he was laughing by the time he looked up. “You hit like a girl,” he taunted, breathing hard, although he knew damn well a punch like that would’ve killed a human stone-dead.

Castiel was staring down at him, his face pale and his eyes wide with shock. “You are not the Dean I know,” he bit out, sounding utterly grief-stricken. “I won’t let you do this to me.”

Dean sat back on his heels, rubbing his chin ruefully. “Too late,” he observed, enjoying himself. “I felt you, Cas. You were hard. Hell, even if I hadn’t felt you I’d have known. I can sense your blood. I know what it’s doing, where it’s going. Your heartrate speeded up and everythin’ went south. You can’t escape biology. You want it just as much as I do.”

“ _No,_ ” Castiel snapped, his voice deeper than Dean was used to hearing it. “I want Dean Winchester. I don’t want _you._ ”

“I am Dean Winchester. When are you gonna get that into your thick skull?”

Castiel stared at him for a few seconds before turning and stalking away. Dean watched him go, content in the knowledge that he wouldn’t go far: nobody left him unsupervised these days.

Then he felt his stomach roll and he sighed. “Cas!” he shouted. “I’m still hungry here!”

 

~ ~ ~

 

They were supposed to be trying to track down Lucifer, but it was difficult. Every time he struck a town or a community he was long gone by the time they got there, even with Castiel transporting them from place to place the second they heard anything. They needed to get ahead of him and his demons, but it seemed impossible. And Castiel couldn’t exactly ask the angels for help. Sam discovered that they’d taken him prisoner when Dean had fought the vampire who’d turned him, and Castiel still had no idea why he’d been released. He’d disobeyed. By rights, he should be dead.

Sam wondered, as he was sure Castiel wondered, whether he was _supposed_ to be feeding Dean and keeping him on Lucifer’s trail. It was hard to know anything for sure these days. The angels hadn’t let him save Dean for a reason, right? Maybe this was it?

As they searched, Dean began scare Sam. Castiel never left them alone for a second and he was desperately thankful for it, because the thought of being alone with his brother these days was a terrifying one. In a way, Sam was pleased this Dean was so different: it would make him easier to kill when the time came, although he tried not to think about that because… well, _because_. There were very few traces of his brother left underneath his exterior, and even that had changed. Dean swaggered now. He didn’t shave. He couldn’t keep still, always pacing, always tossing a knife from hand to hand idly as his eyes sought out things Sam couldn’t see in their surroundings. Car journeys – which they still took, despite Castiel’s handy teleporting skills – were one long, cold sweat, as Dean pulled on sunglasses and sank down in his seat, covering himself up when the sun grew too bright and demanding that the music be kept low because it hurt his ears. He let Sam drive, which was one of the biggest signs that he’d changed. He didn’t even seem to care about his car any more. He never once asked about Bobby. Sam was the only family that mattered to him now, and even then it sometimes looked as though Dean found it an effort not to snap his neck.

But Dean was even more out of control than Sam realized, as he discovered when they were on a hunt in Mississippi.

It was a rougarou – fully changed this time, unlike the last poor bastard they’d faced, and the irony of all the conversations they’d had back then about how Sam was turning into a monster by following Ruby’s lead seemed particularly cruel now he looked back on it. The creature was ravenous, having trapped a group of schoolkids in their classroom; it was prowling around them, trying to choose which one to eat first, when Sam found him.

They’d split up to search, and Castiel had gone with Dean, of course. Which meant that it was just him and the rougarou and a bunch of kids screaming in terror as Sam stood frozen for a few seconds, trying to figure out how the hell to burn this thing without accidentally setting light to its victims as well. It was too close; he needed to draw it out, bring it to the back of the classroom, but as the thought crossed his mind the rougarou snarled and leapt on him.

“So much meat!” it hissed in his ear as they hit the ground with a thump that knocked all the air from Sam’s body. And then it sank its teeth deep into his left bicep, and Sam realized he still had enough air to scream.

The children screamed too, the racket more than loud enough to let Dean and Castiel know where they were, and Sam knew he just had to stay alive long enough for help to arrive. He struggled mightily, dislodging the creature’s teeth from his arm – and fuck, did it just take a chunk of muscle with it? It hurt, it really fucking _hurt_! Somehow he threw it off him, rolling to the side and reaching for the makeshift flamethrower he’d dropped, but the creature was as quick as lightning and straddled his torso before his fingers could close around it.

“Tasty, tasty, tasty,” it growled. “But you fight too much.” A hand snaked into Sam’s hair, lifted his head up and cracked it back on the tiles so hard his teeth vibrated from the impact. Everything went white for a few seconds and by the time he blinked back to his senses the creature had ripped his shirt open and was exploring his chest with fingers that trembled with glee. A hand stopped on his side and Sam frantically wondered what vital organs lay underneath that part of him – liver? Kidneys? He couldn’t remember, he was too rattled. He moaned, trying to move, but the creature simply smiled at him.

“Tastier than children. You’re the main course.”

It lowered its head to bite at his side and Sam opened his mouth to yell… and then it was gone. He blinked, lifting his head as far as he could from the ground before it hurt, and saw Dean holding the rougarou against the classroom wall with one hand wrapped around its neck. It was struggling, hissing, begging, but Dean didn’t move – he just held it there with a strength that no human should have possessed, his back to Sam so he couldn’t see his face.

Sam saw movement on the other side of the room and turned to see Castiel shepherding the children out of the classroom, nodding at their tear-streaked teacher as she moved past him. He closed the door behind them and turned to face Dean, his expression as enigmatically reserved as ever. Sam looked back at his brother, who hadn’t moved.

“Please…” hissed the rougarou.

“Nobody touches my brother,” Dean said firmly. “You got that, chuckles? Nobody.”

“I am… sorry…” It twisted in his grip.

Dean shuddered. He canted his head to one side, then the other, as though he was stretching his neck muscles. The rougarou’s eyes widened as it saw something Sam couldn’t and it screamed, the sound straining to make it past the fingers on his throat.

“Sam, close your–” Castiel started to say, but it was too late. Dean had his teeth clamped on the creature’s neck so quickly that Sam gasped. He’d barely had time to register the movement before his brother’s head snapped back and he spat a mouthful of blood on the floor in disgust.

“You taste like shit!” he growled, and a loud _snap_ rent the air as he twisted the rougarou’s neck. It hit the floor, twitching, still not dead, but Dean didn’t care. He wiped an arm over his mouth – his sleeve came away bloody – and turned to look at Sam.

His eyes were yellow. He had _teeth_. Sam couldn’t help it; he moaned at the sight, horrified beyond belief.

“Chill out, you wuss,” Dean snapped at him. “It’s still me.” But then his eyes fell on Sam’s bleeding bicep and he tilted his head to one side. His voice dropped an octave as he murmured, “Oh.”

Then all Sam could see was the back of Castiel’s coat as he came to stand between them. “Dean, back away,” said the angel in one of the most commanding tones Sam had ever heard him use.

Sam couldn’t see him any more, but he heard Dean laugh. “You think I’m gonna feed on my own brother, Cas? You think I’m that far gone?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied.

A brief pause. “You’re right,” said Dean flatly. “I would.”

Sam flinched automatically as there was a scuffle which ended with Castiel holding Dean flat against his chest, arm around his neck, one hand pinned up between his shoulderblades. Dean struggled, cursing, twisting both their bodies round so he could stare at his brother, his inhuman eyes fixed on his bloody arm with such hunger that Sam didn’t recognize him at all. Dean jerked and tried to elbow Castiel in the stomach but there was no reaction; the angel was too strong for him, and eventually he had to give up.

“You’re a fuckin’ bully, Castiel,” he panted, still staring at the blood. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

“Can you walk?”

It took Sam a moment to realize Castiel was talking to him. “Yes,” he answered, his voice little more than a sob.

“Then get out of here. Dean needs to calm down. We’ll join you later.”

“Dean…”

His brother snarled. “Come over here, Sammy boy. Let’s see if demon blood tastes any different from angel blood.” Castiel pulled his arm higher and Dean grunted in pain. “What? A guy can’t tell his brother he wants to suck on him? What’s the world comin’ to?”

“Go, Sam.”

His head still spinning, Sam went.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Dean tried his damnedest to follow his brother but Castiel held him firm, his body rigid against his back, and his helplessness made Dean spit in fury. How _dare_ Castiel do this to him! Of all the low-down, pompous, arrogant…

“Here,” Castiel barked into his ear, raising the arm around Dean’s neck so that his wrist was in front of his mouth. “Drink.”

Oh. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all. Dean didn’t need telling twice: he bit down on the exposed vein with a noise that was almost pornographic, barely even noticing when Castiel dropped the arm pinned behind his back. He reached up to wrap his fingers around the angel’s forearm and held him in place while he sucked and sucked, feeling that now-familiar warmth rush over him, a tingle that he’d come to realize was deeply, intensely sexual, whether Castiel allowed him to act on it for not. Food and sex – apparently a vampire couldn’t really concentrate on anything else, but then again, what was the point? They were the two best things in the world, weren’t they?

Dean had already fed that morning, so this was a bonus he really hadn’t been expecting. Castiel’s breath tickled his ear as he started to exhale shorter, sharper gusts of air, obviously more affected by the bloodloss as the minutes passed; he’d already given a lot, and it occurred to Dean that perhaps it took him a while to recharge. The feeling of power the knowledge gave him was extraordinary. He squeezed his arm tighter, enjoying the short gasp of pain Castiel couldn’t keep from expelling, and rejoiced in the fact he was growing stronger as the angel was getting weaker. Oh yeah, this was more like it…

“Enough,” Castiel whispered, but he didn’t move. His inaction fascinated Dean. What, no struggle? No attempt to push him away? He bit down harder, growling in the back of his throat as more blood bubbled up from the wound, and Castiel made a sound that was quite definitely not one of protest.

He _did_ enjoy it, Dean thought triumphantly. In Castiel’s head it was probably some fucked-up religious thing, some variation on the blood of Christ or some shit like that, but it was clear that the more Dean drank, the more his partner got into it.

Well, if that didn’t beat all.

And then Castiel did start to struggle, pulling his arm weakly away from Dean’s mouth, but he refused to let him go. “Dean… please,” Castiel gasped, and Dean laughed and gulped down more liquid, reveling in the taste, the way it made him tingle, the unrestrained power and passion it sent ricocheting around his body. Nothing he’d ever eaten in his human life had ever tasted like this. Nothing. As Castiel’s legs began to buckle and Dean followed his arm down onto the ground, it hit him that he’d never been as aroused as this before, either. He was so hard he wanted to scream, but he’d settle for fucking an angel into the floor instead.

They were in a classroom, too, which was kind of kinky, with a still-breathing rougarou glaring at them pitifully from the floor a few feet away – they could only be killed with fire, and its broken neck would probably heal. Dean lifted his eyes to glare at it and it whimpered, twitching feebly. What the fuck. Nothing wrong with an audience.

He finally pulled his teeth away from Castiel’s arm and felt the angel vibrate against him as he turned until they were face to face, kneeling on the floor. “You know you want me, Cas,” he murmured, wasting no time in ripping Castiel’s shirt open. His chest was lily-white, almost blue. No way would his heart still be pumping if he was human.

“I don’t want you,” Castiel whispered sadly, somehow still conscious. He lifted a shaking hand and ran it through Dean’s hair. “I want _Dean._ ”

“I’m afraid that Dean’s not here right now. Please leave a message after the beep, buddy.”

Castiel choked, his eyes falling to the ground, and Dean lifted up his chin and kissed him with a tenderness that actually surprised him. What the hell; he was happy. He had no reason to hurt Castiel, not when he was so weak. All he wanted to do was fuck him. While he kissed him – anointing his lips with his blood, which struck him as appropriate – he pulled away the rest of his shirt, brushing his coat and jacket off him in one swift movement. He tugged at his belt next, not bothering to undo the clasp; he simply pulled and the leather snapped, responding to his vampire strength. Castiel’s breath hitched as it must have bruised him, but he didn’t make a sound, or try to pull away.

Oh, he wanted this, alright.

His pants were next, and then his underwear, and then Dean had pushed him flat on his back and was pinning his arms either side of him on the tiles, smiling a little at the thought of him lying in a crucifixion pose, which seemed like the coolest thing he could imagine right now. What _would_ the rest of the angels say? Blood from the still-bleeding bite on Castiel’s wrist started pooling on the ground, and Dean leaned over his body to lap at it, unable to help himself.

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel murmured, closing his eyes, and a surge of anger suddenly rushed through Dean at the words. Without thinking, acting on pure, unbridled instinct, he sat up and slapped Castiel hard across the face. His skin was so pale that his handprint stood out, livid against his flesh, a mockery of the one the angel had left on his own arm.

“Stop fucking apologizing, Cas,” he snapped, as Castiel turned his head back to stare up at him. “Stop feeling _sorry_ for me, you worthless son of a bitch. You should feel sorry for yourself, not me.”

“Do you even care about Lucifer?” Castiel asked unexpectedly; his gaze was emotionless.

Dean frowned. “What the hell kind of timing is that? I’m about to fuck you and you want to know my intentions towards him?”

“If the apocalypse comes, it won’t be restricted to humanity. Lucifer will kill your kind, too.”

“Stop tryin’ to change the subject. And I don’t give a fuck about the apocalypse. I’m living for the _now_ , Cas. If it comes, then so be it. Que sera sera and all that shit.”

“What about Sam?”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “You really want me to fuck you while I’m thinking about my brother? I’d be careful about things like that if I were you, Cas. I’m already starting to think he looks tasty in more ways than one.”

Castiel swallowed at his words, suddenly looking fearful. “Dean, please…”

“Shut up.” Dean slapped him again. Castiel struggled, but Dean didn’t care. He had no idea how long the angel was going to be powerless beneath him, but he was determined to make the most of it while he could. He bent down and nipped at his neck, reaching down to undo the buttons on his jeans, feeling himself straining to be free…

…and then the rougarou leapt on his back, claws raking down his spine as he growled his outrage at his treatment. By the time Dean had thrown him off and toasted him with the flamethrower, Castiel was on his feet and dressed and regarding him with an expression of such sadness that Dean could have puked on his shoes in disgust.

 

~ ~ ~


	4. Chapter 4

~ ~ ~

 

Sam was sitting disconsolately in the car, cradling his injured arm, when Castiel simply appeared beside him. No fanfare, nothing: he was just there. It was a measure of how miserable Sam felt that he didn’t even jump.

“Your arm needs medical treatment,” Castiel observed, his voice infuriatingly calm. “Will you be able to drive to a hospital, or do you need help?”

“Where’s Dean?” Sam replied tersely, glancing over at the door to the school.

Castiel fell silent. When Sam looked across at him he was staring straight ahead through the windscreen, his jaw tense. “Cas? What have you done with him?”

“He is… somewhere safe.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Castiel turned to meet his gaze. The sun shone directly on his face and he was shockingly pale, his eyes dull in their sockets. He looked absolutely exhausted, and it was such a contrast to his usual appearance that Sam felt a twinge of worry for him. After all, if anything happened to Castiel, nobody would be able to control Dean.

“I’ve taken him somewhere he won’t be able to hurt anybody,” Castiel revealed, and even his voice sounded stretched thin over his vocal cords. “It’s too dangerous to keep him here, around you. I thought he would be able to control himself, but I was wrong.”

Sam felt his head pounding from when he’d connected with the floor, and his arm was aching like a bitch. Neither of them mattered. _Dean had tried to kill him._ “He’s totally lost to us, isn’t he?” he said quietly. “There’s nothing we can do except chain him up like an animal and then let him go when we find Lucifer.”

“He’s not chained up, Sam.” Castiel sounded tired as he looked away. “He’s just contained.”

Sam pondered for a moment, trying to think like Castiel, and then it clicked. “The green room. The place you kept him when I was… when I was going after Lilith.”

Castiel nodded. “I created a new one. He will be safe there. The only person he’ll see is me.”

Sam closed his eyes, missing his brother so much that it was like a knife wound had opened up inside him somewhere. “So that’s how he gets to spend his last days,” he breathed raggedly. “Cooped up with you while I’m out here trying to find the Devil so he can kick his ass.” He wiped at his eyes angrily. “Cas, he’s not going to do it, is he? He’s not going to kill Lucifer. He doesn’t want to. He knows we’ll kill him once he does.”

“He will do it.” Castiel sounded certain.

“How do you know?”

“Because it is prophesized.”

Sam couldn’t help but snort at that. “Is it also prophesized that he’d become a blood-sucking, soulless vampire who tried to kill his own brother? Dean was supposed to be a ‘righteous man’, not a monster.”

Castiel let out a helpless, guttural groan and smacked his hand on the dash, the action taking Sam by surprise. “I don’t have all the answers here, Sam!” he snapped, his face twisting in anger. “I’m doing what I think is right, but I’m acting on my own and Dean is fighting me every step of the way! How do you think I should handle this? Do I let him run free? Do I allow him to feed on humans? Do I stand back and watch as he bleeds you dry?” He turned to face Sam, who stared at him through widened eyes. “Dean is _supposed to stop Lucifer._ That’s all I know, except that the angels wanted him to become a vampire. The only reason I can think of is that they wanted to slow him down, to make sure he didn’t stop Lucifer until it was too late and the world had been destroyed. They seem to be getting what they want. Dean won’t hunt Lucifer until he has no other choice.”

Sam shook his head. “We don’t know where he _is_ ,” he argued, raising his voice. “We don’t know what Dean will or won’t do until we find Lucifer in the first place!”

Castiel smiled bitterly. “He knows where he is, Sam. He could find him any time he wanted to.”

Sam scowled. “How? That’s impossible!”

“He’s a _vampire_ , Sam. When he found you with the wolves, Lucifer had been there and Dean could smell him. A vampire never forgets a scent. He could track Lucifer from one side of the country to the other without losing him. He has chosen not to.”

That stopped Sam dead. The moment Castiel said the words he knew they were true. All this time, all these days, and Dean had known exactly how to find their prey, but he hadn’t said a word. Bided his time, pretended he gave a damn, wrapped them around his little finger.

“Son of a bitch,” he breathed, and grief settled around him like a blanket. Dean didn’t even care about saving the world any more. Dean wasn’t Dean. Dean would never be Dean again. His brother didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone; he was dead to them all. Sam struggled to control his emotions: it seemed like he’d mourned Dean’s death a thousand times before, but this one was the worst because his brother was still breathing, walking and talking, and Sam would be the one who was going to have to end him.

_God, no._

“I thought my blood would help him,” Castiel was saying sadly. “It contained some of my Grace and it calmed him at first. But it made him stronger, too, and now he’s incapable of controlling himself. I thought I was doing the right thing…” He stopped, but Sam was barely listening anyway.

They sat silently for a long time, long enough for Sam to feel himself growing cold from shock while the headache built behind his eyes. He needed to see a doctor, maybe even a surgeon, because his arm was fucked. But he couldn’t seem to move. Neither of them could.

“I loved him,” Castiel said suddenly, and then he was gone.

 

~ ~ ~

By the time Castiel appeared again Dean was ready to rip his head off, angelic blood supply or not, because nobody had the right to do this to him. _Nobody._ The room was empty, containing absolutely nothing: cement-block walls, concrete floor and no door. No. Fucking. Door. The only way Dean was getting out of here was Castiel. And Dean wasn’t Castiel’s bitch, he was _nobody’s_ bitch, and how dare he treat him like this?

He paced and growled, pounding his fists into the walls and watching in delighted fascination as his broken knuckles healed again. He screamed and called Castiel’s name, cursing him six ways to Sunday, but nothing happened.

It wasn’t as if Castiel had left him anything to _do_ , either. At least the last time the angels had locked him in one of these rooms there’d been food and paintings to look at; places to sit, things to examine. Dean could only assume that Castiel didn’t have the mojo to whip up something as elaborate by himself. This room was back to basics. It was a cell, pure and simple.

After five hours, he started to get hungry. After twelve, he was ravenous. After eighteen, he was _murderous_.

When there was the tell-tale rustle of angel wings and Castiel coalesced in the center of the room Dean pounced on him with such force he should have sent him spinning to the floor. Instead Castiel simply raised a hand, wrapped it around Dean’s neck, lifted him into the air and slammed him into the nearest wall, which he hit with a surprised grunt.

“Sam is mourning you, do you know that?” Castiel told him sternly, his voice little more than a growl. His expression was one of barely-contained fury, and it was such a strange look to see on his face that Dean was shocked. “He’s injured, and he’s grief-stricken, and he’s mourning you _again_. Do you really care nothing for him, Dean? You died for him. You spent forty years in Hell to save him. Does his life not matter to you any more?”

For a moment – the briefest, weirdest moment – Dean felt a chill run down his spine. He saw Sammy as a little boy, gazing up at him while he dished up badly-cooked eggs and told him their dad would be home soon. He saw a guy who’d gone to college and then lost a way of life he’d always wanted because Dean turned up on his doorstep. He saw a man who’d almost become a demon because he’d wanted to save the world, a world that was only under threat because Dean himself had set off the apocalypse.

Did he really not care about him?

And then he saw Sam staring at him in confusion while blood poured from a bite wound in his leg, and another Sam who stared at him in horror while blood poured from a bite wound in his arm. The memories made his mouth water and he hissed, realizing that he was only inches away from the veins in Castiel’s neck. Food. So close. So delicious. Right there, if only he could reach it…

He struggled wildly, forgetting everything except that he wanted to eat, but Castiel held him firm. Dean kicked and snapped, his hands little more than claws trying to gouge the angel’s flesh, but he couldn’t break free. Castiel remained stoic, holding him still, his eyes narrowed with anger.

“Okay, okay,” Dean panted eventually, stilling himself. “I give in. You got me. You got me, Cas. Do what you came here to do and then fuck off, I don’t care. Just feed me first. Please, Cas… feed me.”

“No,” Castiel said. “I won’t.”

Dean blinked at him, horrified. “What?”

“You are too strong, Dean. I gave you too much. I did this to you.” Castiel’s eyes lowered. “I thought my Grace would help you, and at first it did. But now it’s just amplifying everything about you that’s vampiric. I’m making you into something you shouldn’t be.”

Dean swallowed, the movement difficult around Castiel’s fingers on his throat. “You sayin’ you made me some kind of super-vampire?” He laughed. “Cool!”

“No, it’s not. You are barbaric, Dean. You’re barely human. You are everything nature abhors.”

Dean grinned. “But you still love me, right? I’ve got a cheeky smile.”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know if I can fix you,” he observed softly. “But I will not make the mistake of allowing you too much power again.”

“Are you goin’ to feed me or not?” Dean was starting to get really, really angry now.

“No, Dean,” said Castiel. “I’m not.”

He disappeared, leaving Dean standing against the wall with his blood pulsing in his ears and nothing at all left in his belly.

“Son of a bitch,” he gasped, amazed. “Son of a _bitch._ ”

 

~ ~ ~

 

It was a measure of how close Sam had become to Bobby that neither of them had spoken for nearly two hours and yet the atmosphere wasn’t awkward. They sat in their respective chairs, books piled around them, searching futilely for a cure. Both of them knew there was no point. Both of them carried on regardless.

The pages kept blurring before Sam’s eyes. He blamed the painkillers the doctor had given him, though he knew damn well it had nothing to do with them. His arm throbbed mercilessly, matching the now-diminished throb from the wolf-bite on his thigh, and the sling itched against his neck where the knot was tied. It hurt too much to take it off. He’d thought his bicep had been shredded by the rougarou’s teeth, but thankfully it wasn’t as bad as that and the injury would heal, given time.

It struck Sam as funny that he’d been bitten twice in a month by creatures who wanted to eat him, when the whole time he’d been worried about his own brother trying to eat him, too. The universe had a cruel sense of humor. But then again, he knew that already. He’d found that out when he’d killed Lilith to prevent Lucifer from escaping Hell, only to discover her death was what caused it. Oh yeah, the universe _loved_ messing with him.

A breeze swept around the room, accompanied by the sound of wingbeats. Sam looked up, expecting to see Castiel. Instead he found another man standing in the middle of the kitchen with his hands clasped behind his back; he was far older than Castiel and wore a business suit and an amused expression. Sam knew who he was in an instant, even before he and Bobby jumped to their feet.

“Hello, Sam. How’s tricks?”

“I wondered when you’d show your face, Zachariah,” Sam hissed, grief turning to fury in a heartbeat. “Why did you do it, you son of a bitch? Why did you let him get turned when Cas could have stopped it?”

Zachariah shrugged. “What can I say? I like vampires. Not the Anne Rice kind – all that angsting gives me indigestion. And _Twilight_ ’s for kids and bored soccer moms. No, I like the kind that have some _bite._ ” He clicked his teeth together to make his point, then chuckled at the outraged look on Sam’s face. “Oh dear, you really have got your knickers in a twist about this, haven’t you, sonny?”

“Dean doesn’t deserve this,” Sam snapped, stepping closer. “You got what you wanted. I freed Lucifer from Hell and he’s here now, doing what you want him to do. You can’t expect Dean to stop him when he’s like this. Undo it. _Please._ ”

Zachariah sighed and folded his arms. “All you humans ever do is ask for help,” he complained, and put on a whiny, mocking voice. “Please, look after my brother! Watch over my mother! Keep me safe, make me better, don’t let me fall, make the pain go away, let little Johnny remember all his lines in the school play! Seriously, you guys are so needy. It’s all want, want, want. And you Winchesters want everything, don’t you?”

“I want my brother to be human!” Sam shouted, forgetting himself.

“Well, keep wanting,” Zachariah sniffed. “He’s a vampire. Get used to it. I could turn him back, yes, even though your faithful angel-hound can’t. Which reminds me, have you got Castiel a collar with his name on it yet? I assume he lies at your feet when you go to sleep, watching over you like the loyal mutt he is.”

“I’d rather be their dog than yours,” said Castiel, appearing from absolutely nowhere to stand between Sam and Bobby, who almost jumped out of his skin.

Zachariah smiled smugly. “Woof! Bad doggy. I bet you do more than just shake your back leg when Dean tickles your tummy, don’t you?”

“Give me the power to change him back,” Castiel demanded, ignoring his comment.

“You’ve had enough favors from me recently. Just be grateful you’re still alive. I wanted to stuff your wings down your throat, but cooler heads prevailed.”

“This isn’t just, and you know it.” Castiel’s tone dripped acid. “There was nothing in the prophecy about…”

“Oh, phooey on the prophecy.” Zachariah waved a dismissive hand at him. “It’s not like it’s perfect, is it? I mean, who would have thought that Lucifer would spend so long doing nothing? He kills a few townspeople here, a few there… I don’t think he’s even hit the thousands yet, but he’s been out for months. Some apocalyptic warrior he is! Rumors of his capabilities have been greatly exaggerated, if you ask me. He’s just a sap. At the moment all he’s doing is annoying us. We could run a better apocalypse ourselves.”

“Then why don’t you?” Bobby said suddenly. “What’s keepin’ ya? Scared your Boss might clip your wings?”

Zachariah turned to peer at him, narrowing his eyes. “We don’t like to get our hands dirty,” he explained, and frowned. “Nice baseball cap. Ever thought of running it through a wash cycle? There’s a substance called Tide I think it would like to get to know.”

“Why are you here?” Sam asked, realizing that there had to be a reason for Zachariah’s visit. “What do you want?”

The angel stared at him so hard that Sam almost flinched. “Just checking in,” he said enigmatically. “You know, should you feel like chatting.”

“He wants you to make a deal with him,” Castiel announced bitterly. “He knows you’re desperate and he wants to trick you into swearing your allegiance to him.”

Zachariah didn’t say anything. Sam looked at Castiel, who pointedly didn’t return his gaze, then back at the other angel. “What kind of deal?” he asked tentatively.

“Sam…” Bobby rumbled in warning.

“Only a little one,” Zachariah said smugly. “You know, in exchange for your brother’s humanity. We could cure him, make him hale and hearty again – hey, we’ll even make him a vegetarian if you want us to. All you’d have to do is promise one thing.”

“Which would be?” Sam’s voice was admirably steady, despite the way his heart was lurching.

Zachariah grinned. “I don’t want you to swear your allegiance to me, Sam. But Lucifer, on the other hand… you’d make a fine lieutenant for him. He’d love to have you by his side. It would give him confidence. I’m sure that at your urging he’d start raining fire down on this miserable planet by the end of the week.”

Sam caught his breath, shocked. “Are y-you insane?” he stammered, completely amazed. “You really think I’d give myself over to Lucifer?”

“We can’t force you to go to him. We can wipe your mind and set you to work in an office, yes, but you were still yourself and you still had free will. This would be too much for us to force you to do. But if you agree…” He spread his hands before him suggestively: _voila._ “That loosens you up. We can send you to him and you’d never look back. You’d love him unconditionally, just because we told you to. And he wants you, Sam. He knows how strong you are.”

Castiel turned to look at him. Bobby was staring, too, and Sam felt sweat trickling down his back. Zachariah was asking him to choose between his brother and the whole world. It should be simple – one person versus six billion. No contest.

But it was _Dean._

“No,” he said quietly, after thinking for what was probably far too long. “No deal. I can’t… I want Dean… but…”

Zachariah sighed. “You’re so pathetically noble, aren’t you? I thought your brother was bad enough. I suppose it wouldn’t make any difference to you if I offered to put Dean somewhere safe while the world ended?” He waved a derisive hand at Bobby. “And him, too, if you want. Sweaty hat and all.”

“That’s mighty generous of you,” Bobby muttered, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“No,” Sam reiterated, and something deep inside him wrenched and snapped at the knowledge he’d just signed Dean’s death warrant. _No, no, no. How could he do this?_

Zachariah pursed his lips and stared at him for a while, then nodded. “You can always change your mind, you know,” he said blithely, and it was as though he was reading Sam’s thoughts. “All you have to do is call for me and I’ll come.”

“I won’t.” Sam knew his voice should have sounded firmer than it did.

Zachariah turned to Castiel. “And how _is_ our Dean doing, by the way? Starving him, are you? Fed up of watching him be a Hungry Hungry Hippo, pouncing on everything in sight?”

Castiel didn’t reply, and Zachariah chuckled. There was something about his laugh that made Sam want to pull his skin off, just so he had something to smother him with. “Oh dear, Castiel,” the angel drawled. “You really are attached to the boy, aren’t you? I suppose now he’s all about the feeding and the fornicating you don’t know what to do with yourself, do you?” He placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder in a mockery of a fatherly gesture. “Let me give you a tip. Birds do it. Bees do it. Even educated fleas do it. You should let yourself go, Castiel. It’s not like you’re ever coming home, so we’re not going to judge you for it. Indulge your filthy desires and get your kicks while you still can. Sooner or later he’ll face Lucifer, whether Sam takes us up on our offer or not. And after that… you can’t keep him. He’s gonna lose his head – why don’t you lose yours?”

Castiel threw off Zachariah’s hand and raised his fists, an expression of utter fury sparking on his face, but before he could make another move the angel was gone. He stared at the space where Zachariah had been and seemed to control himself again with an effort, unfurling his fists and looking down at the floor.

Nobody spoke for a few minutes.

And then Bobby said, “Well, he was a charmer, wasn’t he?”

 

~ ~ ~


	5. Chapter 5

~ ~ ~

After four days, Dean was absolutely convinced that he was going to die from the pain.

He’d known hunger as a human: after forty years in Hell, there was barely a torment he _hadn’t_ known. But this was something else; this was something inhuman, unnatural, bestial – an aching, burning, agonizing sensation that had him screaming for Castiel so loudly that at one point he thought he’d actually snapped his vocal cords. He convulsed on the hard concrete floor, clutching his stomach as though he could fill it just by pressing on it with his arms, and he moaned and whimpered and cursed as the pain just wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t remember how it felt to have a normal body. All he knew was _hunger_.

Somewhere inside him, he knew it wasn’t just hunger. As crazed as he was, he managed to figure out that most vampires probably wouldn’t go through this if they were denied a few meals. This was because he was detoxing angel blood, just like Sam had come down off demon blood.

If Dean had known his brother had felt anything like this he’d have let him out of that panic room in a heartbeat.

By the start of the fifth day he’d started gnawing on his own arms, trying desperately to suck out the blood in his own veins, but all it did was moisten his tongue. It didn’t feed him. There was no reason it should. And the bites didn’t go away, either – he couldn’t heal himself any more.

A while later, as his body spasmed and he cried out in agony, his head began to clear. It was slow at first, taunting him, but gradually he remembered how it had felt to be human.

He remembered _Dean_ , and the knowledge of how far he’d fallen since then was almost as bad as the pain.

 

~ ~ ~

It was hot inside Bobby’s house and Sam decided he needed some fresh air. It was midnight and the stars were startlingly clear above the car yard as he walked through it, but he forced himself not to gaze up at them.

Somehow he felt that if he looked up he’d call Zachariah’s name, bow down before him and ask him to cure Dean. He’d join Lucifer in destroying the world, all because he’d had a weak moment. It was hard choosing strangers over his brother, even though it was the right thing to do. Every time Sam thought about it he wavered a little more.

God, he missed Dean.

He stopped, surprised, as he approached the Impala and saw Castiel standing beside it. His hands were flat on the roof and his head was bowed; he was either praying or crying, Sam couldn’t tell, but suddenly he didn’t want to know. He was debating whether to walk away when Castiel’s head snapped up and he turned to look at him. “Sam,” he said, and his voice was normal. _Praying, then._

Sam nodded a greeting and walked up to the vehicle, leaning on the hood and slipping his free hand inside his sling with the other one to keep warm. “How is he?” he asked, because it had been two days since he’d seen the angel, and he knew Dean had been starving all that time. The very thought made him feel ill.

“Not good,” Castiel said simply. He pushed himself away from the car and looked up at the sky, then turned to lean his back against it, mirroring Sam. “He is growing weaker by the hour, though, and that’s a good sign. I’m hoping that when he’s lost enough of his strength I can use it to my advantage.”

“In what sense?” Sam knew Castiel was going somewhere with this, but he didn’t know the details.

The angel sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not sure you want to know.”

Sam couldn’t help but huff out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, because obviously I don’t want to know what’s goin’ on with my own brother.” As soon as he said it he wondered if Castiel registered sarcasm, so he added, “Come on, Cas!”

The angel turned to stare at him, his gaze as unemotional and penetrating as ever. “It was something Zachariah said,” he explained. “He called me a dog.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Which proves he’s an insensitive asshole, yes, but how does that relate to Dean?”

“The wolves were another clue. They got me thinking. They live in packs and there’s always a leader, an alpha male. Vampires often do the same. In this case, Dean thinks it’s him.”

Sam understood in an instant. “Right... So you’re going to re-train him to think it’s you.”

Castiel nodded. “I have to ration his meals, make sure he knows I’m the one in control. I have no idea how he’ll respond.” His lips quirked into a faint smile. “Dean was never particularly respectful of me to begin with.”

“Yeah, well. That’s Dean. He practically has ‘alpha male’ stamped on his ass.”

“I have to be… firm with him.” Castiel scowled, staring past Sam at the horizon. “It will not be pleasant.”

Sam studied him, trying to imagine Castiel telling Dean to ‘sit’ and ‘stay’, and it seemed ridiculous. Obviously he wouldn’t do that, but whatever he did do was probably going to be just as weird. Dean was nothing like a human right now. But then again, neither was Castiel.

“I saw you with the wolves,” he said eventually. “You commanded them like they were naughty puppies. I guess you have it in you.”

Castiel nodded, but didn’t look sure of himself. Sam thought back to the way the wolves had reacted around him and remembered their eyes, staring up at Castiel as though he was something to be worshipped. Yellow eyes. Bright against their gray fur.

“Dean had yellow eyes,” he murmured, struck by a thought. “I didn’t know vampires could have yellow eyes.”

Castiel went to say something before stopping himself. Sam looked at him curiously as he started again. “Have you ever wondered where vampires came from, Sam? How they ended up existing?”

Sam shook his head. “I assume the stork didn’t bring them.”

“They were created by demons. It was a long time ago, when Hell was still new. Demons mated with humans and the vampires were only one of many of their tainted creations.”

Sam caught his breath, stunned. _Yellow eyes._ “Azazel,” he hissed. “He created vampires? Seriously?”

“He was only one demon out of many, but yes. He created some. The vampire that turned your brother was a descendant.”

Sam fisted his hands by his sides in impotent rage. It was like their lives were one big cosmic joke: the same demon that killed their mother was also responsible for Dean becoming a vampire? What the hell?

“We killed Azazel already,” he said tightly. “Now I want that vampire, Cas. Tell me where it is.”

Castiel lowered his head. “There is no point.”

“Castiel, don’t you dare tell me what I can or can’t do. That bastard did this to Dean and I want him. He might have managed to get the better of him but he won’t take me down. I want his head!”

Castiel shrugged. “Then you need to go to Wisconsin, because that’s where I buried it.”

Sam swallowed, the wind taken out of his sails. “Oh.”

“It was the first thing I did, once the angels released me and I realized what had happened. I thought it would make me feel better, but it didn’t. I suspect you would have felt the same way.”

Sam couldn’t think of what to say, so he settled on, “Thanks.”

They were silent for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts. After a while Sam’s curiosity finally got the better of him and he realized he had to ask the question that had been nagging at him for a while now. “Cas, did you mean it when you said you loved Dean?”

Castiel stiffened a little, but his voice was normal when he replied, “Yes.”

“Did Dean know?”

This time, Castiel’s voice wavered. “I believe he did. And he certainly does now.”

Sam felt hideously uncomfortable to have brought it up, but he had a pretty good idea from what both Dean and Zachariah had said to him recently that this was a big issue for Castiel. “He’s using it against you, isn’t he?” he asked tentatively. “He knows how you feel and he’s trying to control you.”

“Yes,” said Castiel, after a pause. “But he is not succeeding. It has been difficult, but... he has not succeeded.” There was an unspoken ‘yet’ that hung traitorously in the air between them.

Sam thought back to all those long nights with Ruby and looked away. “It’s pretty intimate, drinking someone’s blood,” he said with some bitterness. “You form a bond.”

“It feels… good,” Castiel replied, his voice low and uneasy. “I wasn’t expecting to feel it at all, but I do.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Only a little, but then he sometimes takes too much and…” Castiel stopped, closing his eyes. “But it’s pleasant, too. The harder he bites, the more I feel… I don’t know. Something. Something I like too much.”

Sam frowned. “He takes too much? He can’t kill you, though, can he?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, he can’t. But he can weaken me. I don’t think he should be able to, but he does. I think…” His voice trailed off and he didn’t speak for a long while, but Sam didn’t push him. Finally, after a pause that was only mildly uncomfortable, Castiel turned to him and said earnestly: “I think I let him, Sam.”

There was such emotion in his voice that Sam’s skin prickled. According to Anna, the angels had no feelings. Either she’d lied or something had happened to Castiel, because he sounded like a man who was struggling with so many emotions he had no idea what to do with them.

“You shouldn’t,” he replied carefully. “Dean’s tricky now. He’ll take advantage. He’ll really hurt you, Cas.”

“I know.” Castiel searched Sam’s eyes for something – understanding, perhaps? – before looking away. “But I want him to, Sam. I wasn’t there for him when this happened, and I’m not strong enough to cure him now. I feel as though I owe him whatever I can give him.”

“I’m not sure…” But Sam’s words went unheard because Castiel disappeared. Sam had the weirdest feeling that he couldn’t face him after making such a confession, and it wasn’t surprising. Man, what was it about the Winchesters that made the people who cared about them _hurt_? Angels were supposed to be impervious. Castiel had sounded… lost.

“Look after him,” Sam said softly, finally forcing himself to stare up at the stars. “But look after yourself, too.”

 

~ ~ ~

Dean didn’t even hear him arrive. He was lost in some kind of weird hallucination in which he was swimming in a sea of blood but every time he lapped at it the liquid burned his tongue. It was cold and thick, difficult to move through, and his head kept going under despite his attempts to stay afloat. As far as fever-dreams went, it was pretty mild compared to some of the ones he’d suffered this week.

“Dean,” said a voice, and its owner had to say it three more times before it impacted enough on him to make him open his eyes. He stared up at Castiel, who looked just the same as ever. There was no triumph on his face, no guilt, no disgust. Just the same old angelic calm.

“Kill… me,” Dean croaked.

Castiel sank down to his knees beside him. “Because you’re hungry or because you’re a vampire?”

“B-both.” Dean coughed weakly, his throat so dry he was amazed he didn’t bring up dust. “I tried… to feed on Sam.”

“Yes. I know.”

“You have… to stop me.”

Castiel shook his head. “I can’t, Dean. You need to stop Lucifer from destroying humanity.”

Dean grimaced. “I can’t even stop myself, Cas. How can I–” Another cramp twisted in his stomach and he groaned, wanting it all to just _stop_ , right now. Everything. No more. He couldn’t take this. The hunger was bad enough, but he was a _vampire._ He didn’t deserve to live, especially now he’d felt what it was like to lose control. A few feeds and he’d be like it again – a monster who’d tried to kill his own brother.

_No._ It had to stop.

But Castiel had other ideas. “Here,” he said, after rolling up his sleeve. He placed his wrist in front of Dean’s mouth and Dean stared at it helplessly, knowing that if he fed he’d lose everything all over again.

“I don’t want it,” he rasped, but he could barely hold himself back. God help him, he could _hear_ it pulsing under that pale, smooth skin, and the hidden scent of it was enough to drive him insane.

“You do want it,” Castiel said calmly. “But this time it’s on my terms, Dean. I will not kill you. Not yet. You have work to do. Until you have accomplished your goal, you’ll do everything I tell you. Now… drink.”

It was too much: Dean reached out a shaking hand and pulled Castiel’s arm to his mouth, biting down with a moan of self-disgust. But the moment liquid hit his tongue the sound changed to one of ecstacy – it was _glorious_ , incredible, life-giving, _right_. He was so hungry that he almost choked as he swallowed it too quickly; it flowed over his tongue and down his throat, healing his weakened body in mere heartbeats, warming his freezing body and sparking his sluggish mind awake again. He groaned, lost in the joy of it…

…and then Castiel snatched his arm away, pushing Dean to the ground firmly as he stood and strode across the room, pulling his sleeve down to cover the wound as he walked.

“What the _fuck_ , Cas?” Dean snapped, panting, feeling blood dripping down his chin. “That wasn’t enough! Just you come back here, you prickteasing son of a…”

Castiel turned to face him. “Shut up,” he snapped, with so much authority that Dean surprised himself by obeying. “That’s all you’re getting today. I gave you enough to keep you healthy, but that’s it.” He canted his head to one side, staring at Dean through narrowed eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Fucking hungry, damn you!” Dean jumped to his feet, swaying a little as his body adjusted. He hadn’t been able to stand for days. “Give me more!”

“Do you still want me to kill you?” Castiel said archly.

Dean frowned, remembering how he’d felt before the blood had hit his tongue. Yeah, right. Like he was still that pathetic. “No,” he grunted, licking his lips. He was a little confused – something had changed here. This Castiel wasn’t quite the same pushover he’d been before. Dean sensed he’d have to offer him something, and he said the first thing that came into his mind. “If you give me more blood, I’ll help you find Lucifer.”

He didn’t mean it, of course.

Castiel smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant sight; he looked dangerous. “Liar.”

Dean closed the gap between them warily, prowling from side to side. Castiel’s eyes followed his movements but he didn’t move a muscle. “Okay, I see what you’re doin’ here, Cas. You want to be the boss. I get that. Denying me food so I’d beg and whimper at your feet? Very clever.” He fisted his hands at his sides. “But I’m not your fuckin’ pet, and if you want me to bark on command you’ll have to do more than starve me. You got that? I’m nobody’s _toy._ ”

Dean was lying on his back a second later. Blood filled his mouth – his own blood, not Castiel’s – and he had to spit out two teeth as he struggled to gather his wits.

_Since when could Castiel punch like that? Fuck!_

“I don’t want you to bark on command,” Castiel said calmly, putting the hand that had just sent Dean flying across the room back in his pocket. “I want you to fulfil your destiny and send Lucifer back to Hell. I want you to remember who Sam is, and what he means to you. I want you to control the beast inside of you, as far as you are able.”

“Fuck you,” Dean grunted, spitting blood over Castiel’s coat as the angel approached him. To his absolute amazement, Castiel kicked him in the stomach by way of reply, folding him over in agony. Oh, no – this definitely wasn’t the same wussy angel who’d kissed him and allowed him to nearly suck him dry. This was another creature entirely.

“You will show me some respect, Dean Winchester,” Castiel ordered.

And with that, Dean knew he was in serious fucking trouble.

 

~ ~ ~

 


	6. Chapter 6

~ ~ ~

 

 

Sam didn’t see either Dean or Castiel for the next month. It was the longest month of his life.

At first he thought Castiel would pay him a visit every now and then to keep him informed of Dean’s progress, but he didn’t materialize. After a while he supposed that Dean’s ‘re-training’ – and Sam still couldn’t get over how ludicrous that sounded – was a full-time job and Castiel couldn’t get away. Then, as the weeks passed, he simply started to worry that something had happened to the both of them.

“No news is good news, I guess,” Bobby told him, and Sam tried to keep that in mind. But it wasn’t easy. He was worried sick, of course, and living in a vacuum with no information was pure torture. And it wasn’t as though he had anything else to distract himself with, either. Zachariah was right: Lucifer was nothing like they’d all expected him to be. His demons rampaged through a town in Connecticut, killing everyone in sight, and a power plant in Utah burned to the ground after the locals reported mysterious stormy weather and electrical disturbances leading up to the disaster – but that was it. Four weeks and less then two hundred deaths. Not that the casualties weren’t tragic, of course, because they were, but they were also shockingly light.

Lucifer’s ‘apocalypse’ wasn’t really that impressive after all. Sam assumed it would be one day, but Lucifer was taking his own sweet time about it. No wonder Zachariah had wanted him to give him a nudge.

Sam could hardly forget the angel’s offer. As he climbed into bed one night he found a postcard lying on his pillow. On it was a photograph of the guy Lucifer was possessing, an innocuous-looking yet handsome businessman whose name, Sam had discovered after doing some digging, was Philip. He was smiling at the camera and had his arm around someone beside him, but the figure had been blacked out until they were nothing more than a silhouette. “Wish you were here!” it said under the shape.

The back of the postcard was blank, but it wasn’t as though Zachariah had needed to sign it or anything. Sam burnt it, but he had more trouble than usual sleeping that night.

It wasn’t as though he was waiting around for Castiel to actually cure Dean, was it? All the angel could do, if he was lucky, was persuade him to hunt down Lucifer. Even if his brother did fulfil the prophecy and kill the Devil – or at least send him packing – Dean was still a vampire. Zachariah could cure him, yes, but Sam knew he wouldn’t. Not unless…

No way. No way was Sam joining Lucifer. The deal the angel had offered him was crazy, and he tried to pretend it had never happened.

The more time that passed, though, the harder Sam found it to live with his decision.

 

~ ~ ~

Dean Winchester wasn’t a happy vampire.

Oh, he still got his blood to drink; delicious and sustaining, served with a side-order of angel Grace that juiced him up more than human blood ever could, along with the chance to press himself against his donor until he was hard and raring to go. Trouble was, he never went anywhere. Castiel didn’t allow him to drink enough to truly take the edge off his hunger, mainly because his Grace would make Dean too strong; and every time Dean got a little too carried away with his body language he’d get a slap round the face for his troubles. Seriously, nothing took away a man’s libido more than a prospective partner who could bat you away like a fly when you wanted to be the one on top.

And the preaching. Dear God, the _preaching!_ Dean wished the angel would just fly away and leave him alone – coming back for mealtimes, natch – because in between Castiel went on and on about Lucifer and humanity and how Dean needed to rediscover his conscience and Sam loved him and blah blah fucking blah. He was so earnest about it, too, fixing him with those big blue eyes of his, refusing to accept any back-chat. Dean couldn’t wisecrack or insult him; it wasn’t like the old days. Castiel was having none of it. He wouldn’t let Dean get away with anything, and Dean was growing seriously pissed at the whole deal.

“So why the concrete bunker, huh?” he asked him now, pacing backwards and forwards in a way that reminded him of zoo animals who’d been kept contained for too long and had gone a bit loco. _Yeah, ’cause I’m the animal,_ he thought bitterly.

“It is sufficient,” Castiel replied. He was standing in one of the room’s corners, watching Dean pace. That’s all he ever did: watch Dean. It was infuriating.

“You couldn’t conjure up a couch? Some chairs?” Dean gestured around him at the nothingness. “How about a stereo?”

Castiel just stared at him.

“A Wii? An Xbox? Come on, man. This has to be as boring for you as it is for me. With our reflexes we could kick ass at _Guitar Hero_.”

“You need to stop complaining,” Castiel said flatly, as though he expected Dean to shut up and stop, just like that. Which, if Dean had any sense, he would have. Castiel had shown him time and again over the last few weeks that he wasn’t going to take any shit, and if Dean’s body wasn’t so quick at healing he’d have the bruises to prove it. At least his teeth had grown back. Stupid fucking angel and his stupid fucking strength.

“I don’t see how keeping me in this room with nothing to distract me is supposed to make me your willing slave,” Dean grunted, folding his arms and leaning on the nearest wall. “What’s the game plan here, Cas? You want me to find Lucifer? Fair enough. But I’m not going to do it because I know damn well you’ll kill me before I can say ‘Sayonara, Satan.’ And yet you have to keep feeding me, don’t you? If you don’t I’ll probably die and then nobody can save the world at all. So you’re stuck and I’m stuck and only _Rock Band_ could possibly make things better.”

“You’re whining like a child,” Castiel pointed out. “Would you listen to yourself? You want to play games while the world burns!”

Dean shrugged. “I’d rather have sex while the world burns, actually, but this new Robocop version of you doesn’t seem to want to play.”

For the briefest second, Dean thought he saw something flicker in Castiel’s eyes, something shocked and sad. Then the mask was on again and the angel was staring at him calculatingly. “Is that what you really want?” he asked. “Sex? With me?”

Dean laughed. “Jesus, Cas. _Duh._ ”

“I assume that’s a yes,” Castiel said wryly. “Perhaps I should also give you a lesson in how to speak English while I’m here.”

“Oh, right. A _lesson_. What are you now, my master? You fancyin’ yourself as some kind of dominatrix?” Dean stopped, puzzled. “Are there male dominatrixes? What do you call them? Dominars? Dominos?”

“You can call me Castiel,” said the angel dismissively. He licked his lips, narrowing his eyes to stare at Dean thoughtfully. “Are you hungry?”

Dean scratched his neck. “If you’re gonna ask stupid-ass questions, I’m not even gonna dignify them with a reply.” He was starving, of course. He couldn’t even remember the last time he hadn’t been. But at least he wasn’t ravenous, and he never wanted to get that hungry ever again. Despite his bravado, deep down he was scared he was going to push Castiel too far. If the angel left and never came back again… well, Dean didn’t even want to think about it.

Castiel took off his coat. It was such a weird thing for him to do that Dean stared at him suspiciously, confused. Castiel _never_ took off his coat. The last time he’d done it was when Dean had bitten him the first time, on the neck, but there was no way Castiel was going to let him bite him there again. These days it was wrists or nothing, as though the angel didn’t want their mouths getting too close together.

“I’m going to ask you a question, Dean, and I want an honest answer. If you can be honest, that is.”

“I can totally be honest, as long as you don’t mind me insulting you,” Dean replied breezily.

Castiel threw his coat on the ground. “Where would you like to bite me?”

Dean blinked, surprised. “Is this a trick question?”

“There are many arteries and veins in the human body,” Castiel explained, and Dean watched in bafflement as he started undoing the buttons on his shirt. “There are the carotid arteries, which run either side of the human neck...” He tilted his head from side to side, stretching his neck so that Dean could try to see where they ran deep under the skin, “…and the jugular vein, which I know you’re familiar with. There are the brachial and radial arteries in the human arm, although the bloodflow there is not as strong as a vampire would like.”

“I got no complaints,” Dean interrupted weakly, his mouth starting to water.

“But there are other arteries, too. Some are too deep for you to drink from. My aorta, for instance, is buried in my ribcage.” As he said it he pulled off his shirt and jacket at the same time, slipping his tie over his head, revealing a smooth, slightly tanned chest. The unexpected sight, coupled with the words, made Dean break out into a sweat. He was so hungry…. but he was horny, too, and Castiel was apparently stripping for him. He had no idea what was going on here, but he liked it.

“And then there is the lower torso,” Castiel announced, his voice as calm as a biology professor’s. He began to unbuckle his belt and Dean made a soft growl in the back of his throat, gradually starting to see where this was heading after all. “There are the tibial arteries in the lower leg, which you can access via my ankle…” He kicked off his shoes and reached down to remove his socks, somehow making the action elegant. His feet were pale against the gray concrete floor. “Or, as I’m sure you’re aware, there are the femoral arteries, which run through the human thigh and groin.”

And holy shit, Castiel dropped his pants. Dean gaped at him, a feral grin stealing across his face, waiting for him to remove his boxers. There was one place left where he knew an artery neared the skin, and he was pretty sure Castiel had that in mind for Dean’s main course today.

“Do you have any preferences, Dean?” the angel asked, his hands stilling suggestively beside his underwear.

Dean cleared his throat, suddenly suspicious. This was too easy. Castiel had been trying to assert his authority over him for weeks, and now this? What was with the striptease and the vampiric dirty talk? “What’s the catch?” he asked, his voice guttural and pained. He wanted to feed and it was hard denying the urge.

Castiel smiled wickedly. “Think about it.”

Dean thought. Okay, so the femoral artery came to the surface in the groin, right in the fold between leg and crotch. It was a powerful artery; the blood would hit his tongue and head straight down his throat. He’d hardly even need to suck. The very thought gave him chills. Why would Castiel gift him with something so good unless he wanted… something… in return…

Ah.

“I take it it’s no coincidence that this artery’s right next to your dick, then?” Dean asked, amused.

Castiel didn’t say anything; he just gave him a _look_. The last time Dean had seen that look had been when the angel had bent the rules of Heaven and told him about Chuck’s connection to the archangel. It was a sneaky look. The kind of look that made Castiel seem almost mischievous. Dean read it, knew exactly what Castiel was thinking, and felt a rush of affection for him and his little schemes that was distinctly un-vampire-like. The kinky little bastard. After everything he’d put Dean through, now he wanted this. It was almost endearing.

He laughed and pulled off his own shirt. “Oh yeah,” he chuckled, shaking his head in admiration. “I gotta hand it to ya, Cas. You know how to surprise a guy.” He came to stand in front of him, meeting his gaze evenly. “So you’re tryin’ for the big power-play. If I go down on my knees and give you a blowjob in exchange for blood, you’ll think you’ve won. You’ll be my master, and I’ll be a submissive little vampire who’ll always do your bidding.”

Castiel didn’t blink. Dean tried to out-stare him, but that plan never worked, so he grinned and dropped to his knees. “Did it occur to you that I might like doin’ this? Your blood tastes so good that your come could taste like fucking _ambrosia_ for all I know! Whatever the hell ambrosia is. I never did know that.”

“Just do it, Dean,” Castiel told him, sounding a little impatient.

Dean shrugged. “I can’t believe this is your big plan to dominate me. You really think this is gonna teach me who’s in control?”

Castiel sighed. “I don’t have to teach you who’s in control, Dean. You already know it’s me.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean huffed without thinking. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Castiel lifted a leg and kicked him square in the chest, sending him flying backwards. He cracked his head on the concrete floor and cursed. Why did he never see it coming? He was a fucking vampire! He was supposed to have awesome reflexes, so why did Castiel always get the upper hand – or, in this case, foot? But then all further thought ceased when the angel suddenly landed on his chest, straddling him and holding his hands flat on the floor with fearsome strength.

“Great,” Dean spat, struggling under his grip. “What’s this? You gonna sit on me until I behave myself?”

Castiel squeezed Dean’s wrists so hard that Dean gasped. “You are not the one in control here,” he said in an almost-electric whisper that made Dean’s hair stand on end. “Any other scenario is an illusion. I am stronger than you, I’m better than you, I’m faster than you. Nothing you can do can weaken me. You depend on me for everything, Dean, and you know it.”

For the first time, Dean started to get his point. Castiel’s face was flushed and his eyes were bright and otherworldly. He stared down at him with such fierce intensity that Dean felt small and pitiful underneath his gaze, like he was a kitten suddenly realizing that the dog in the neighbor’s yard wasn’t just something to taunt but something that could tear him to shreds.

He caught his breath, shocked and unsettled, before he remembered the times when he’d drunk Castiel’s blood and weakened him. This creature wasn’t invincible at all. It was all bravado.

“Fuck you, Castiel,” he hissed, fury washing over him.

Castiel bared his teeth like a dog. “No, Dean,” he growled. “Fuck you.”

And, shockingly, he bent his head and bit Dean on the neck, so hard that Dean yelled out in pain and jerked beneath him. _What the fuck?_ He felt blood pour down his neck and Castiel made an angry moaning noise into the wound, worrying it with his teeth, and – his exploits in Hell aside – it was the most disturbing feeling Dean had ever known.

Castiel’s teeth were flat and human; they weren’t meant to bite into veins and arteries. Dean knew what it felt like to be bitten by a vampire because Gordon Walker had once thrown him against a wall and tried to tear his neck out, and Dean had felt the pin-sharp pricks of his fangs sink into him smoothly, nothing like how it felt now. He yelled again, cursing, but Castiel didn’t move. And then Dean found himself thinking again of Gordon, and of how, when he’d felt those teeth move in his neck, his first thought had been _Dear God don’t kill Sammy please don’t let him kill Sammy what if he kills him what will I do?_ He remembered how it had been to feel those teeth, to smell the blood on Gordon’s breath, to be in the presence of something so hideous and wrong, and then he thought _that’s me, I’m Gordon now._

He was sobbing within seconds, a rush of chilling self-awareness sweeping over him that overpowered the pain from his neck and the hunger in his stomach. He was a vampire! He was a monster! How could he keep forgetting Sam? How could he be so broken?

He barely even noticed when Castiel released his neck, sitting back and freeing Dean’s hands so he could wipe blood from his lips with the back of his arm. Dean instantly covered his face with his hands, trying to twist underneath the angel so he could curl into a ball, but Castiel wouldn’t move to allow him to do so.

“Dean?” the angel queried, sounding confused.

“End it, Cas… for the love of God, please… just end it...”

Dean’s hands were batted away from his face and Castiel held his chin in fingers that felt as though they were trembling. “It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked urgently, as Dean blinked up at him in misery. Castiel’s face was pale and he looked deeply, deeply upset. There was blood on his lips and Dean moaned at the sight of it, feeling his neck throbbing.

“Kill me, please,” he begged. “Don’t keep me alive like this, Cas! I’m not even human, I’ve forgotten Sam, I’ve forgotten everything! Please…I’m not… you have to…” But even as he spoke, as he saw the hope flare in Castiel’s eyes, hunger churned his stomach and he found himself staring at the blood, knowing it was his own but wondering if he could kiss Castiel and get it back, or bite at what lay underneath those full lips of his, so tempting and beautiful…

“No,” Castiel breathed, his expression changing to one of hopelessness. “Don’t go–”

Dean bucked underneath him, fighting to get free, but the angel wouldn’t let him move. He grabbed his wrists and held them firmly together with one hand, stilling him, and Dean swore viciously as he realized he was totally powerless. “You sick son of a bitch!” he shouted, furious. “You bit me! You fucking bit me! Who’s the fucking vampire here anyway?”

Castiel said nothing, holding him still, and after a while Dean stopped moving. He was getting really, really hungry now and the bloodlust clouded his head as he stared up at the angel. “I’ll do it,” he panted, frowning. “Let me do it, Cas. I’ll suck you off like you’ve never known, I really will. I’ll make you scream, I swear it. Just let me feed. Let me bite you. Please, Cas. I’ll do it, I promise I will.”

Castiel regarded him with a stricken expression. “I know you will, Dean,” he said, his voice hitching suspiciously. “You just can’t help yourself.”

He disappeared.

It was the first time Dean had been left on his own in weeks. He screeched in anger, knowing he was too hungry for this, clutching at the wound on his neck and wishing Castiel was dead with all of his might.

He forgot about Gordon Walker completely, and Sam meant nothing at all.

 

~ ~ ~

Bobby swore mightily and dropped the dish he was holding on the floor with a resounding crash. The sound brought Sam running into the kitchen with a knife in his fist but all he saw was Bobby at the sink, clutching his heart as though he’d just had the fright of his life, and Castiel standing beside him, breathing heavily. He looked pale and tired and when he glanced over at Sam his expression was strained.

“How’s Dean?” Sam asked, wasting no time on greetings.

“He remembers,” Castiel said quickly.

Sam swallowed hard, thrilled, momentarily losing the ability to speak. Bobby, having recovered from the shock of Castiel’s appearance, spoke for Sam instead. “How much?”

Castiel lowered his gaze. He ran a hand across his forehead and it struck Sam that he looked less like an angel than a man who was going through some kind of hell. “Not a lot,” he said wearily. “But enough for there to be hope. He’s remembered himself twice now, but this time it really mattered because he wasn’t sick; he was only a little hungry. The Dean we know is fighting back.”

“Thank God,” Bobby breathed, leaning on the sink.

“Can I see him?” Sam’s voice was hopeful, but the look Castiel gave him quashed his delight.

“No. He is still a vampire. He’s progressing, but…”

“I want to see him. He’s my brother.”

“Sam, you can’t.” Castiel sounded really upset. His unease chilled Sam to the bone.

“When will he come home?” he asked instead, backtracking.

“I don’t know.” Castiel sighed, rubbing his neck. “He isn’t responding to my authority, but he’s getting close now. As soon as I feel he can control himself, I’ll bring him back to you.”

_So we can use him to kill Lucifer and then cut his head off,_ Sam thought bitterly, and he saw exactly the same expression on Bobby’s face.

Castiel was either a mind-reader or he could judge them well, because he shook his head somberly and observed, “I can’t cure him, Sam. Nothing has changed. I’m reaching him, but only a little. It is progress, yes, and there’s more hope than there was before, but he is still cursed.”

“How come Zachariah says he can cure him, but you can’t?” Sam asked, but he tried to make it sound curious, not accusatory. Whether Castiel noticed the difference or not, he couldn’t tell.

“He’s stronger than me,” Castiel said bitterly. “He’s stronger than many angels. I would ask for help, but there are very few who could cure Dean, and they’re all on his side.”

“Bastards,” Bobby grunted, folding his arms.

Castiel shot him an amused look. “They are still angels,” he said primly. “They are sons of the Lord, and so none of them are bastards in the strictest sense.”

“They’re bastards in every other sense, though,” Bobby said flatly, as though daring Castiel to challenge him.

The angel hesitated before saying, “Yes. Yes, they are.” He drew in a breath and frowned. “I have to return to Dean. Have hope, Sam.” He looked across at him, his eyes filled with sadness. “But not too much.”

He vanished, leaving Sam wondering how the hell he was supposed to ration out his hope like that.

 

~ ~ ~


	7. Chapter 7

~ ~ ~

Dean was ready to attack the moment Castiel appeared. He heard wingbeats, sensed the air in the room shifting in preparation for the new arrival, and launched himself at the spot with reflexes that no human could ever call their own just as the angel appeared before him.

His surprise tactic worked. Castiel hit the floor with a thump and a grunt of expelled air, and Dean sank his teeth into his neck and drank so quickly he found himself worrying briefly about indigestion. He swallowed more mouthfuls than he probably should have been able to snatch before Castiel shoved him away roughly, climbing to his feet with a scowl, blood pouring down his coat from the wound in his neck.

_What a waste,_ Dean thought, staring up at it as he crouched on all fours, ready to pounce again. But Castiel had been caught by surprise once and he wasn’t going to allow himself to be fooled a second time. “That wasn’t a good idea, Dean,” he said angrily, raising a hand to his neck. It was probably more to hide the blood than because it hurt, but Dean could still smell it. It made his cock twitch.

“Got what I wanted, didn’t I?” he grinned, licking his lips. “I can’t keep waiting around for you to offer up a vein, Cas. Sometimes a guy’s just gotta _take_.”

Castiel glared at him and Dean felt the power dynamics between them shift slightly. Okay, so the angel had spent weeks trying to kick some obedience into him, and Dean had been wavering, just a little. But not any more. Fuck all that. He’d even suffer the starvation if he had to, but Castiel wasn’t his master. He was playing some seriously screwy games here – or trying to – but Dean had played some pretty screwy mind games himself when he’d been in the Pit. He knew how these things worked.

He’d borne the brunt of Alastair’s domination, too. Castiel wasn’t even in his _league._

Dean had done a lot of thinking in the hours since Castiel had left. He knew the angel cared about him and that everything he was doing here, despite appearances, was probably half-killing him to act out. Dean could see it in his eyes from time to time between all the bravado: guilt, shame, embarrassment. He thought he was being big and badass, but all he was doing was proving that he didn’t have a clue how to handle a vampire who knew his biggest secret: that he was in love with him. Castiel had buttons, and Dean had figured out how to press them. All he had to do was keep talking about sex. Castiel would eventually fold and fuck him – which would probably break him into little pieces with guilt – or he’d be ashamed of his thoughts and slink away like a wounded animal. Either way, Dean would have won.

“Come on then,” he goaded him, sitting upright on his heels. “We were in the middle of something last time you were here. I believe you owe me a drink and I owe you a blowjob.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Castiel said, after a slight hesitation. _Weakness. He was faltering._

Dean shrugged. “So we move past the blowjob and straight onto fucking. I don’t care as long as I get fed.”

Castiel shook his head, grimacing. “You are despicable.”

“You’re the one who wanted to face-fuck me, Mr Not-So-Angelic. I’m not the only sex maniac here. I have an excuse – I’m a vampire. What’s yours?”

“I’m not going to feed you,” Castiel told him haughtily. “You shouldn’t have attacked me just then.”

Dean faked a pout. “You’re so mean to me, _Master._ How can I ever make it up to you? Are you sure you don’t want me to suck your cock?”

Castiel blinked at him, thrown, and Dean felt something inside him glow with pride. Find a weakness and exploit it. He was good at this.

“You’re testing me, Dean,” Castiel growled eventually, but he’d left such a long pause before speaking that it was clear he wasn’t in control here.

Dean jumped to his feet. “For that, you have my apologies,” he said politely, and performed a mock bow. “Again, how can I make it up to you? Would you like me to bend you over and fuck you from–”

He hit the far wall with a sickening thump, feeling the impact vibrate through his entire body and his ears ring from the blow. Castiel was still too fast for him. He slid down the cement blocks and landed on his ass, panting, before reaching up and wiping blood off his split lip. “I guess not,” he said wryly, gazing up at the angel. “Not a fan of anal, then? I hear it’s all the rage these days.”

“You’re trying to provoke me,” Castiel said dangerously, and for a moment Dean was distracted by the power emanating from him – a crackling, numbing aura that made his teeth tingle. “Why?”

“Come on, Cas,” Dean said placatingly, climbing to his feet and trying to ignore his wobbly legs. “The first time I bit you, you were all over me. Don’t you deny it, either. And you’ve been hard at least twice since then while I’ve been sucking on you. Be honest here, you poor bastard – you’re so desperate to get inside me it’s all you can think about, isn’t it? I bet you’ve never had sex before, have you? You angels are so righteous and holy that–”

This time he didn’t even know what hit him, only that it hurt. His head cracked on the floor and he growled, annoyed to be taken unawares yet again, but he also felt a rush of something he wasn’t expecting.

Pleasure.

Huh.

Usually when Castiel knocked him around it wasn’t good. Apparently, though, if Dean was thinking about sex when it happened, it felt pretty fucking awesome. He thought quickly, musing on pain receptors and endorphins and how some people got off on bondage and domination and being tortured, and he figured that vampires were probably wired that way simply because they were so different from humans. Shame he hadn’t noticed earlier, really.

“Is this foreplay to you?” he asked experimentally, clambering to his feet again. “I mean, you’ve never done it, so for all you know tossing me around is gonna get you in the mood. It’s totally working for me, Cas. The more you beat on me, the harder I get.”

That seemed to stop Castiel in his tracks. He froze, narrowing his eyes and staring at Dean suspiciously. Dean shot him his cockiest grin, thought _what the hell?_ and rubbed his crotch. “Come on, Casssss,” he hissed provocatively. “Hit me again.”

Castiel remained fixed in place, so Dean swaggered over to him, emboldened, and stopped mere inches away from his face. “Let’s make this fun, shall we?” he said softly, placing a hand on Castiel’s cheek. “I’ll kiss you and then you can kick me in the stomach. While I’m on the floor you can tear off all my clothes and punch me till I see stars. After that I’ll be good and hard, so you can turn me over and do what you want and I’ll fuckin’ love it.”

Castiel didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even blink. Dean leaned close to his ear and whispered, “You know you want me, baby. Have you ever watched me with a woman? I’m good. I’m really fucking good. I’m better than you deserve, especially now.”

“You were better before,” Castiel murmured tightly. The words were such a far cry from the authoritative tone he’d been using recently that Dean could have screamed in joy.

“You want me the way I used to be?” Dean said smoothly, knowing how to play this now. He ran the backs of his fingers down the side of Castiel’s face. The angel leaned into the touch, apparently unaware that he was doing it, and Dean felt his ever-present hunger replaced with lust. “You don’t want me to be a vampire any more? Is that what you want, Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel breathed, closing his eyes, and _just like that_ Dean had him. He leaned forward and kissed him gently, holding himself back, play-acting at being human. Castiel didn’t react, so Dean snaked his arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer, running a hand through the angel’s hair with forced tenderness. Castiel shuddered and Dean moaned in response, keeping it quiet, making it sound sad and small and thoroughly human.

He broke off the kiss and murmured, “You know how I feel about you, don’t you?”

Castiel dropped his eyes to the floor. _Oh yeah. Who’s submissive now?_ Trying his utmost not to grin in triumph, Dean kissed his forehead and then hooked a finger under his chin and lifted him up, pressing their lips together. “Come on, Cas,” he whispered against his mouth, when it became clear the angel wasn’t going to kiss him back. “Come on, let me in. I love you, you know…”

A groan of utter despair left Castiel’s chest and he tried to push Dean away, apparently coming to his senses, but Dean was prepared. Without hesitation he shoved his partner against the wall and fastened his mouth on his neck again, lapping blood from the still-bleeding wound with frantic hunger, all the while rubbing himself against him with hunger of a different kind. He reached down and lifted up one of Castiel’s legs, draping it around the back of his thigh as he pressed forward urgently, gripping him by the buttock to hold it in place. He was pleased when Castiel didn’t drop it and the angel suddenly grinded against him in return, arching his neck pleasingly under Dean’s mouth and releasing a positively pornographic moan. The sound did unimaginable things to Dean’s dick and he groaned, the combined pleasures of blood and friction almost blowing a fuse in his brain.

It only lasted for a minute. Castiel began to struggle and Dean hadn’t drunk enough blood to weaken him yet; he found himself pushed away and a fist plowed into his face, forcing him to his knees, and Castiel followed him down and hit him again, sending him sprawling on his back. He had time to blink up at the bulb on the ceiling for a few seconds before Castiel was straddling him like he’d done that last time, back when he’d bitten Dean’s neck, only this time Castiel bypassed his neck and went straight for his mouth, kissing him so hard it almost hurt. Dean was too stunned to kiss back, although a little voice in his head remarked smugly that this was exactly what he’d wanted.

“Curse you, Dean Winchester,” Castiel panted between kisses, slipping a hand around his throat and squeezing. “Damn you forever, you unholy creation, for everything you’ve done to me.”

Dean tried to speak but Castiel’s lips were on his again, urgent, hungry, and the fingers around his throat tightened painfully. But it wasn’t all bad – Castiel was sitting on his crotch and Dean was growing terrifically hard underneath the pressure. He thrusted upwards with his hips, struggling to breathe and finding both sensations inexplicably enjoyable, and then Castiel bit his lip and that was _it_. Dean came with a magnificent rush of pleasure that would have taken his breath away if only Castiel hadn’t done it already, his whole body arching and shaking under the sensation even as he wished he’d had time to undo his pants and put his dick somewhere more interesting than his underwear. He managed to growl his approval, the sound a rumble deep inside his chest, and as soon as he heard it Castiel jumped up and away from him, his eyes flashing with everything from guilt to hatred.

“I should kill you now,” he snapped, sounding surprisingly – and, Dean thought, gratifyingly – close to tears. “You don’t deserve to live, _vampire!_ ”

Dean lay still, filling his lungs with air, feeling blood on his tongue and warm dampness cooling on the inside of his jeans. He felt marvelous, fulfilled, well-fed. He turned his head to gaze up at Castiel proudly. “That was fucking great,” he observed happily. “We should totally do that again, only naked.”

Castiel stared at him in horror before disappearing, as Dean knew he would. He was too pleased with himself to even wonder when he’d be back.

 

~ ~ ~

Sam stopped dead when he saw Castiel sitting on Bobby’s couch, his figure lit up by the moonlight flowing through the window behind him. He was bent over, his head in his hands, and even in the dim light Sam could see his posture was defeated. What the hell…?

“Hey,” he said softly, and for once Castiel jumped as someone snuck up on _him_ unheard and unseen.

“S-Sam,” he stammered, staring up at him. “I didn’t know you were awake. It’s… it’s late.”

“Needed a drink,” Sam explained. “Couldn’t sleep.” He flicked on the light. Castiel didn’t squint or blink in the sudden illumination, which struck Sam as odd, but then again everything about Castiel was odd. Particularly now; he looked shockingly tired and wan, his eyes haunted. Sam caught his breath, unused to seeing him look so fragile, and his thoughts instantly turned to his brother. “What’s going on?” he asked, worried.

Castiel stared at him steadily for a few seconds before he closed his eyes and placed his head back in his hands. “I’ve failed,” he said brokenly. “For the first time in my existence, I’ve failed in a task. I have never failed my Father, but when I try to serve humanity instead of Him I am not strong enough. It seems I cannot function without my faith to guide me.”

Sam didn’t understand what he was saying; all he could think about was Dean. “What’s happened, Castiel?” he demanded, sitting beside him on the couch. His palms were suddenly sweaty.

Castiel didn’t raise his head when he answered. “He is too clever for me, Sam. He saw right through me. He knows how to weaken me without weakening himself.”

“But you said he was getting better!”

“He was.” Castiel finally looked up, and now Sam was sitting so close to him he could see that the angel’s eyes were red. Had he been crying? Surely not? “But it wasn’t enough. He is devious, Sam. He learnt too much in his life as a hunter and he learnt too much under Alastair’s tutelage in Hell. He can’t be fooled, at least not by me. He is sick and twisted, everything about him impure and carnal. I was willing to… to lower myself to try to reach him, but even that…” He glanced away, his hands fisting in his lap. “He is irredeemable, Sam. I can only imagine that the prophecy was not tailored to him when he is in this guise. The Dean Winchester who is supposed to stop Lucifer doesn’t exist any more.”

“That’s not true,” Sam declared, his voice husky with grief. “Don’t you go saying that, Cas. There’s hope. Just because he won’t respond to you doesn’t mean he’s a lost cause. There has to be a way we can reach him.”

“When we caught Alastair and tried to determine who was killing the angels, he was defiant and proud,” Castiel said as he stared down at his fists. “He mocked us, taunted us, told us we were fools. Dean reminds me of him. We asked Dean to torture Alastair on our behalf, to bend him to our will. There is nobody who can do the same to Dean.”

“What the hell happened with you two?” Sam asked, incredulous. “You were supposed to be showing him who’s boss – you’re _stronger_ than he is!”

Castiel shook his head. “I am weak while I still love him, and he knows it.”

Sam fell silent, not quite sure what to say to that. He was still a little freaked that Castiel had such feelings for his brother, although he didn’t begrudge him. It was just… weird.

His companion dropped his head into his hands again and his body shuddered. “It’s not simply about the blood any more,” he revealed, his voice catching in his throat. He paused, apparently gathering himself together to speak, and his next words were stilted and desperately uncomfortable. “Dean is using… sex. He knows it’s the one thing I have… difficulty coping with. The things he says… let alone what he does… I can’t seem to…”

His voice trailed off and Sam stared at his shoulders, shocked. The next sentence fell out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “Castiel, are you saying… did Dean _rape_ you or something?”

Castiel sat upright, leaning back against the couch and rubbing his hands down his face. “No,” he said, and Sam was so relieved he could barely breathe. “But if he could, he would.”

There was a whole world of hurt in his words, and visions of Dean trying to force himself on Castiel ran unbidden through Sam’s mind. Without thinking, he placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezed. The angel flinched a little before looking down at it with a weary expression. “You shouldn’t feel so sorry for me, Sam,” he said with alarming bitterness in his voice. “I am not entirely innocent when it comes to Dean’s advances.”

“You’re trying to do the right thing,” Sam told him firmly, choosing to ignore the implications of that particular statement. “You need a break. I want to see him, Cas. Take me to him.”

“No.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.” Sam squeezed Castiel’s shoulder harder, making him turn and look him in the eyes. “He’s my _brother_ , man. I haven’t seen him in over a month. We tried doing this your way and I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I want to know how he is, to see if those changes you saw in him might still be there. I have to see him, Castiel. I need to know if he’s really dead to us, or if there’s still hope.”

Castiel turned away. He was silent for a long time, and Sam kept expecting him to pull his disappearing act, but he didn’t.

Eventually he said, “As you wish.”

Sam blinked, and suddenly he was standing in a concrete room lit by a single lightbulb. The room was bare and cold and contained absolutely nothing except for Dean, who was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and a bored expression on his face that was so enchantingly, perfectly _Dean_ that for a moment Sam thought Castiel was wrong and he was cured after all. But then his brother jumped to his feet and grinned wolfishly, and Sam saw how pale he was, how strangely he moved – so fluid and carefree, like he had all the strength and agility in the world – and his heart sank. This wasn’t Dean. This was the creature he’d become.

“Well, well, well,” Dean announced, rubbing his hands together. “I see Castiel decided he needed reinforcements.”

“Hello, Dean,” Sam said carefully, sensing Castiel tensing behind him. “How are you?”

“Hungry,” Dean declared nonchalantly. “The chef’s a bit stingy with his meals in this place. And I’m bored out of my tree, too. Apparently angelic green rooms don’t come with TVs.” He frowned suddenly, taking a step forward. Sam fought not to flinch as Dean took a deep breath in through his nose, right in front of his face.

“Fuck, Sammy. You smell fantastic.”

Sam shook his head. “Keep on smelling, Dean. That’s the nearest you’re going to get.”

“Really,” Dean replied flatly. “Seems I’m guaranteed a no-fun time at the moment.” He stepped backwards after a few beats, his face lighting up with glee. “So did Cas tell you he asked me to give him a blowjob? Can you believe that? An _angel_?”

Sam gulped, shocked, and glanced across at Castiel. His eyes were fixed on Dean but he looked shaken. Was that true?

“He’s one kinky motherfucker,” Dean said, stretching languidly and pointing at the angel. “One minute he’s slappin’ me around and the next he’s got his teeth jammed in my neck. I think he’d jam his dick somewhere else if only I’d let him.”

“That’s enough, Dean,” Castiel growled, but his voice wasn’t nearly as menacing as it should have been.

“Bashful, are we? Don’t want your little human friend to know about your dark side?”

“Stop it,” Sam snapped, suddenly angry. “He’s been trying to help you, man. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you _remember?_ ”

“Remember what? That I was a weak, miserable, pathetic piece of shit like you?” He spoke viciously, all traces of the old Dean disappearing in a flash. “Oh yeah, Sam, he’s been _helpin’_ me all right. First he rides me all year to stop the apocalypse, gets me half-killed by Alastair, threatens to throw me back into Hell every time I backtalk him, and then he goes and sets you free from Bobby’s panic room so you can go out and cause the very damn thing he’s been telling me to stop all along. That’s _helping_ , Sam.”

Sam caught his breath. Castiel was the one who set him free? The angel dropped his gaze to the floor, looking mortified, and it hit Sam then – with a wave of fearful amazement – that Dean had broken him. He looked utterly wretched, as though every word Dean spoke cut him to his very soul. He was about as far from dominant as it was possible to be. Sam had no idea an angel could be taken down like this, but apparently Dean had figured out how. He knew exactly what to say to hurt him, even though angels weren’t supposed to be able to get hurt. How was he doing it?

“And then he lets me get turned,” Dean was saying, taking a few steps towards the angel. “Best thing he’s ever done, if you ask me, but all he’s done since is moan about it. He wants me to be human, Sam, but can he change me back? No. He’s too weak and pathetic for that. So he decides he’ll save a few human lives and let me feed on him, except – whoops! All that does is make me strong like a vampire shouldn’t be. At first I was all, ‘Oh, Cas, I gotta help Sammy! I gotta save him from Lucifer!’” He waved his hands in the air as he spoke, making his voice light and mocking. “His Grace kept me tied to my human soul for just long enough for me to save your ass from those wolves. But after that…” He shook his head. “Well, he should’ve stopped feeding me right then. He shoved the soul right outta me with all that blood of his.”

“Dean, that’s not true,” Sam began, but Dean raised a hand and casually shoved him away. He hit the floor, winded and shocked, unable to believe how easily his brother had been able to knock him over, like he’d weighed absolutely nothing at all.

Dean started to circle Castiel like a leopard. “And finally, after all of that, he finds that every time I feed on him, he _likes_ it. He likes it way too much, Sammy. He starts having wicked, dangerous thoughts about me. He wants me to fuck him and suck him. He wants me to call him Master and lick his fucking nasty shoes. He’s no angel, Sammy. He’s a sick, twisted freak who’s messed up everything he’s touched since he got here.”

“No,” Castiel gasped, his eyes still fixed on the floor. “You’re wrong. I was trying… I did the right thing…”

“You created a monster, Castiel old pal, old buddy. You created me. I wouldn’t be half the vampire I am today without your help. You really thought you controlled me? I might need your blood, Cas, and I might be stuck here in your jail, but you’re the one who can’t live without me. Face up to it, man. You’re obsessed with me. You don’t even worship God any more – you worship me.”

Castiel moved so quickly Sam could barely see it. He had Dean pinned against the wall with his fists twisted in his shirt in a heartbeat; there was such misery radiating off him that Sam could almost taste it in the air. He sat upright, wincing as he moved his bruised shoulders, and his stomach lurched as he stared at the two men in front of him and realized that neither of them were like him. Dean was pure, primal instinct and malice. Castiel was a corrupted, confused shadow of his former self. It had taken one to bring down the other, and this power play was now over.

“What are you going to do, Castiel?” Dean asked sweetly, staring the angel right in the eyes. “Do you want to fuck me or hit me? Because I’ll enjoy both, and I get the feeling you will too.”

Castiel’s hands circled Dean’s neck. Dean grinned. He carried on grinning when Castiel threw him to the floor and kicked him in the side. Sam recoiled away from them, shocked, unsure whether to intervene when he knew that Dean could tear his head off and Castiel had lost control of himself. Dean grunted in pain, gripping his side, then laughed and yanked at Castiel’s leg, sending him tumbling to the floor. He leapt on him, punching him several times in the face, but Castiel twisted beneath his body and punched him back. Dean was sent sprawling, but he recovered quickly enough to knock the angel to the floor again as he tried to stand. He sat on his chest and stared down at him, ignoring Castiel’s hands as they strained to push him off.

“I’m hungry,” Dean observed calmly, as though nothing had happened. “You know the thing I love most about you, Cas? You taste like _guilt._ ”

He bent his head and sank his teeth into Castiel’s neck as Sam watched, horrified. He expected the angel to fight him off but Castiel merely groaned, his body shaking, and then he relaxed and lay limp, his eyes fluttering closed.

_He’s given up,_ Sam thought, amazed. _Dean pushed him too far and he’s actually given up. This is insane!_

He climbed to his feet, looking around him for a weapon, anything he could use against his brother, but there was nothing. He didn’t have anything on him; he’d just climbed out of bed, for crying out loud, and he hadn’t thought to grab anything before he’d left Bobby’s because it had been so sudden. And he’d had _Castiel_ , who was supposed to be stronger than Dean – this shouldn’t be happening! How could it be? How could a vampire get the drop on an angel?

There was nothing else he could do, so he tried to pull Dean away from Castiel’s neck with his bare hands. Dean growled and pushed him off without even looking up; he was so strong that Sam went flying. He hit the ground on his knees and started shouting for Castiel to _fight, wake up, stop him!_ But Castiel’s eyes had closed and he didn’t look like he could even hear him. Dean was making hideous slurping noises as he drank, interspersed with soft moans of ecstacy, and one of his hands had snaked down Castiel’s side and slid up underneath his shirt, where it was caressing him gently. Sam stared in total shock, unable to believe what he was seeing, before it started to sink in that he was in serious trouble.

When Dean finished feeding, Sam was going to be next.

 

~ ~ ~


	8. Chapter 8

~ ~ ~

What happened next seemed to surprise Dean just as much as it surprised Sam. Reality bent around them. The walls twisted; the air hummed and a bright, pale light replaced the glow from the concrete room’s single lightbulb. Sam stared around him, unsettled, and Dean broke off from feeding to look up at the same time as there was a sudden rush of air filling empty space. It was followed by a falling sensation and then Sam found himself kneeling on the floor of Bobby’s den, surrounded by familiar walls and furniture, the room looking exactly the same as when he’d left it a short time beforehand.

He gasped in shock at the transition, turning to see Dean staring at him with amusement on his face. His mouth and chin were dripping blood.

“I guess the power’s out in the Holodeck,” he stated gleefully. “Cas doesn’t have enough juice to keep the green room going. I think I sucked him dry.”

Sam gaped at him, putting two and two together and realizing he was right; Castiel seemed to be unconscious and his mysterious prison had disappeared, as though it couldn’t exist without him concentrating on it. And then Sam thought _there are weapons in the next room_ and scrambled to his feet… but Dean was too quick. He gave him a shove that sent him flying into one of Bobby’s bookcases, bringing the whole thing tumbling to the floor with an almighty crash, and the impact winded him so badly that he could barely resist at all when Dean sat on him, knees each side of his waist, holding Sam’s face still with a firm hand.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Running off to get a machete, were we? Figured you’d swing it in the air and slice off my head in one neat stroke? You haven’t got the stomach for it, little brother. You’d just fall to your knees and whimper like a girl.”

“Get off me!” Sam snarled, finally finding his voice. He bucked underneath his brother's weight but Dean barely even moved. His fingers tightened around Sam’s chin and Sam gasped, shocked at how strong he was, feeling as though his jaw was about to shatter under his grip. Dean’s eyes were yellow and his teeth dripped blood; he looked hideous, like something that had never been human, and Sam knew he’d just drained an angel of its Grace and whatever it was that made up Castiel’s life force was enough to make Dean an impossible opponent. There was no way he could get away – he was trapped.

“All my life I looked out for you,” Dean said in a flat voice, staring down at him emotionlessly. “I wiped your nose and wiped your ass and taught you how to walk and talk and fight. I was the father you never had, but all you’ve ever done is cause trouble. I went to Hell for you, you miserable fuck, and look how you repaid me – you released the Devil! I had a whole world to use as a feeding ground but now, thanks to you, humanity’s about to be wiped out! What am I supposed to eat when all the humans are gone, huh?”

“Is that really all you can think about?” Sam snapped, struggling despite knowing it was useless. “Don’t you care about anybody except yourself?”

“Why should I? I’ve spent my whole fuckin’ life putting other people before me. Have you any idea how incredible it is to just think about myself for a change?” He yanked Sam’s head to the side so he could see Castiel, who was lying pale and motionless on the floor a few feet away. “You think I give a damn about him? Or you? I know he loves me and I know you love me, but it means _nothing_. I can’t feed on love, Sammy. I feed on blood.” He grinned. “Blood has a higher nutritional content. Love don’t taste of nothing.”

Sam squirmed, futilely pushing at Dean’s torso with his hands, but he wouldn’t budge. “I know you’re not completely gone, Dean,” he gasped, as his brother sat and stared at him contemplatively, clearly luxuriating in his power over him. “You’re still in there somewhere, I know you are. Please, Dean, don’t do this…”

A nose sniffed at Sam’s neck and he froze, expecting teeth to follow, but Dean simply sat back again. “You smell amazing. I can actually smell the demon blood pumping through your veins, man. You’re gonna taste so different to Cas. Like chalk and cheese.” He shrugged. “Though who eats chalk?”

“Dean, you don’t–”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t finish it because Dean was suddenly kissing him firmly on the lips, hands either side of his face and holding him still with a vice-like grip, and Sam could taste Castiel’s blood and something foul and rotten behind it that could only be _vampire_ and he tried to scream, horrified beyond belief, but to do that he’d have to open his mouth and then Dean would get inside and so he couldn’t. He fought him instead; jerking on the ground; kicking his legs uselessly, trying to find leverage to tip him over, but Dean refused to move.

At least, he didn’t move until he shifted his body until they were groin-to-groin, rubbing against him in a manner so suggestive it could only mean one thing. Sam could feel that Dean was hard inside his jeans; and just as he registered the fact with a rush of disgust, his brother’s right hand vanished from his face and started pulling at Sam’s belt.

Sam went cold. Oh, dear God. No. No, no, no. What the hell was Dean going to do here?

“I’ve got somethin’ good for you, little brother,” Dean whispered in Sam’s ear, the pronounciation slightly affected by his vampire teeth. “Angel blood makes me so fucking hard and, seeing as Cas ain’t puttin’ out right now, I figured maybe you’d like to find out why I’m your _big_ brother.”

“ _No!_ ” Sam all but screamed the word, thrashing desperately, but Dean was relentless. Fingers pulled off his belt and started undoing the buttons on his jeans, stopping to rub him through the denim between each one, clearly trying to coax some kind of response out of him.

“You’ll like it, I promise,” Dean murmured, licking Sam’s ear with a too-hot tongue. “I bet you’ve never been fucked like I’m gonna–”

His body jerked against him with a pained gasp at precisely the same moment that Sam registered that Bobby was standing over them. There was a deathly quiet pause and then Dean was on his feet in once swift movement, facing the new arrival and turning so that Sam could see there was a knife sticking out of his back.

“Bobby Singer, you stupid _idjit_ ,” Dean growled, reaching around awkwardly to pull out the blade. “You don’t stab a fucking vampire, you _behead_ one! Did you really think this would kill me?”

“I didn’t want to kill you, Dean,” Bobby said reasonably, his eyes wary as he backed away from him.

“Then what did you…” Dean stopped. He swayed, supporting himself on a nearby wall. “Oh, Bobby. Always the perfect hunter. Dead man’s blood, was it?”

Bobby shrugged. “Morgue’s finest.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll admit it’s makin’ me a little woozy, but I think you forgot something. I’ve been drinking angel blood. I’m not an ordinary vampire, Bobby. You’re gonna need more than a blade dipped in that gunk to bring me down.”

“I know,” said Bobby. “That’s why I brought extra.”

He darted forward, apparently counting on Dean’s reflexes being slower than usual thanks to the poison, and Dean screamed in fury as a syringe sank deep into his neck. It was over in an instant: Bobby pumped the rest of the dead man’s blood into Dean’s jugular and stepped back as Dean collapsed to his knees, cursing, his whole body spasming in pain. He swore heatedly for a few seconds before falling onto his face and lying still.

Bobby wiped the back of his wrist across his forehead and stared down at the empty syringe in his hand. “That’s the first time I’ve prayed in months. That stuff was all but coagulated – it’s a miracle it even went down the needle.”

Sam wanted to say _thank you_ but he was still in shock. He couldn’t even sit up; he stared at Dean in horror, trying to comprehend the fact that his own brother had almost raped him. How could Dean do something like that? How could he be that far gone? No wonder Castiel hadn’t been able to control him; he was utterly _insane!_

“I don’t think he’ll be out for long,” Bobby was saying, as he leant over Dean and snapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. “I’ll get sleepin’ beauty here trussed up and get another dose ready. You go check on your angel friend.”

Bobby’s voice was all business, and his matter-of-factness helped Sam pull himself together. He sat up after taking a few deep breaths, unable to tear his eyes from Dean, expecting him to jump up and attack at any moment. But he didn’t look as though he was faking: the dead man’s blood was doing its job, keeping him sluggish and immobile. His face was twisted in agony and he’d gone horribly pale. Bobby started winding a rope around him with brisk efficiency and Dean didn’t move a muscle. Only when he was well and truly bound did Sam look away and crawl over to Castiel.

“Cas?” he said nervously, placing a shaking hand on his arm. The angel was a ghastly gray-blue color and his breathing was subdued. Sam was pretty sure Dean couldn’t kill him – Castiel had told him so himself – but he’d certainly done some damage, enough to weaken him so much that he’d actually passed out. Castiel didn’t react as Sam shook him and it wasn’t until he patted his face that his eyes flickered and he opened them.

“S-Sam?” he mumbled, clearly thrown by his surroundings. “Where are we? What…?” He sat up, clutching at Sam desperately. “Where is he? Did he hurt you?”

“It’s alright, Bobby took care of him. Dead man’s blood.” He nodded over towards their companions and Castiel’s eyes widened as he saw Dean’s predicament. Then he breathed out a sigh of relief and bent his head.

“That’s… that was the best option. He’s too strong.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, because Castiel was shaking.

The angel nodded, eyes still downcast. “I will be. He weakened me. I’m sorry… I should never have taken you to see him. I don’t seem to be exhibiting the best judgment of late.”

Sam thought back to what Dean had said to him; how he’d torn him apart, citing every attempt Castiel had made to help him and making it sound as though he’d done nothing but fail. “Stop blaming yourself, Cas,” he said softly, so Bobby couldn’t hear. “This is the vampire’s fault, not yours.”

Castiel placed a hand on his neck, wincing as his fingers connected with the ragged bite on his skin. “It _is_ my fault, Sam,” he said wearily. “I released a monster into the world.”

Sam shrugged sadly. “That makes two of us.”

Castiel actually looked at him then, his eyes filled with sympathy, before nodding across at Bobby. “You need to dose him every hour. The poison won’t work on him for longer than that.”

“Gotcha,” Bobby answered, arranging Dean so that he was leaning with his back against the couch. He was trussed up so firmly Sam found himself wondering how much rope Bobby had lying around anyway.

Dean half-opened his eyes, glaring at Castiel blearily. It looked like it was hard for him to even keep his head from sinking onto his chest. “Fucking… son of a bitch…” he croaked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Look at what… they’ve done to me. All I wanted… was some fun.”

“I don’t think raping your own brother is ‘fun’ in any dictionary, Dean,” Bobby told him firmly, getting to his feet.

Dean grinned weakly. “He’d have loved it,” he drawled. “I’d have… fucked him so hard he’d have… been screamin’ my name and beggin’ for more.”

Sam didn’t even see Castiel stand up but suddenly he was there in front of Dean, staring down at him coldly. “Wassa matter, Cas?” Dean asked, gazing at him through drug-fogged eyes. “Jealous?”

Castiel pulled his tie over his head, untied the knot and then wrapped it around Dean’s head, gagging him with it. Dean didn’t even struggle. He was too weak.

“Shut up,” Castiel told him stiffly.

 

~ ~ ~

 

When it came down to it, they only had one choice.

“This is torture and you… know it,” Dean complained woozily, as they settled him in the back of the Impala and Sam slid onto the seat beside him. “You’re s’posed to be the good guys and… this is fuckin’ torture.”

Sam placed the coolbox containing the blood in between them and slammed the car door. Bobby climbed behind the wheel and Castiel appeared in the passenger seat, making Bobby jump. “Sorry,” the angel apologized, and the irritated look on Bobby’s face actually made Sam smile for the first time in weeks.

“You can’t… do this to me,” Dean insisted, sliding sideways so that his head lolled onto the glass. “You twisted… bastards!”

Castiel turned in his seat and glared at him. “You will do as you’re told,” he snapped.

“You’re goin’ to kill me when I find him!” Dean argued, somehow summoning up a spark of defiance. “Why should I lead you to him?”

“Because you either die once you’ve faced Lucifer or you spend the rest of your life writhing in agony with corpse-blood singing in your veins.” Castiel’s voice was hard. Sam wondered if he’d have been able to say it quite as firmly himself, without his voice giving away his grief.

Dean coughed feebly. He was silent for a long time, long enough for Bobby to start the car and get them onto the freeway. “Sammy,” he said eventually. “Where are we goin’?”

“To the last place Lucifer attacked. You can pick up his trail from there.”

Dean fell silent again. He closed his eyes and Sam thought he’d passed out right up until he said, “I really wish I could’ve had a taste of you.”

“Yeah, well.” Sam looked out of the window at the sunrise. “The only thing you’ll be tasting for a while is Lucifer’s scent.”

“Sadist,” Dean muttered, before coughing so hard he brought up blood.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Castiel didn’t stay around. He came and went, scouting ahead or following up potential Lucifer sightings, and so for most of that day Bobby and Sam were left alone with their prisoner. Dean didn’t like the daylight and so Sam covered him up with his coat, trying not to notice how he was shivering beneath the ropes, his face pale and sweat beading on his forehead. Dead man’s blood was nasty stuff. When Sam administered each dose Dean lost his bravado and begged him not to, moaning and struggling with his eyes wide and scared, like a frightened child.

Every time it happened, Sam had to remember what his brother had almost done to him before Bobby had saved the day. It was enough to make sure he could go through with the injections, but only just. Dean was right: they were torturing him. Unfortunately, they had no other option.

It was long past dark when they pulled up beside the clothing factory where Lucifer had slaughtered fifteen shift workers two days beforehand. Police tape snaked everywhere, harsh yellow lines dividing the crime scene into segments. Castiel was waiting for them, lit up by the beams from the car as they approached, his face stoic. There were two security guards lying by his feet, sleeping. Sometimes an angel came in pretty handy when breaking into places undetected.

As it turned out, however, they didn’t even have to get out of the car. “I smell him,” Dean announced wearily, the moment the door opened. “He went South.”

Sam hesitated, half-in and half-out of the car. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

Dean closed his eyes, a soft whimper falling from his lips. “Because I ain’t got no choice,” he grumbled, shivering. “I’m in pain, Sammy, and I want it to stop. I want to find that fucker and put an end to all of this. I want… what you want. He has to die. Just promise me you’ll… kill me quick after. I can’t…. live like this. It’s Hell all over again.”

Sam looked up at Castiel, who was standing by the passenger door, his face hidden in shadows. “What do you think?” he asked him. He had no idea if Dean was being truthful or not, and knew Castiel had no way of knowing, either. But he asked him anyway.

“We have no choice,” said the angel. “We must trust him until we know differently.”

“South it is,” Bobby declared, climbing back into the car.

 

~ ~ ~

 

All they had to do was roll down the windows; Dean’s vampiric sense of smell was strong enough to track Lucifer without him having to get out of the car once. At first Sam was skeptical, fairly certain that Dean was sending them on a wild goose chase, but when he demanded they make a left turn while hidden beneath a coat, with no way of knowing that there was only one turning on their road and that it was fast approaching, it went some way towards convincing him that Dean was definitely following a scent. Whether it was actually _Lucifer’s_ scent, though, was anybody’s guess.

They drove for two days, taking turns behind the wheel. Castiel sat with Dean in the back while Bobby or Sam slept up front, one of them twisted uncomfortably in the passenger seat while the other kept them on the road. Sam was aware of the fact that Bobby wasn’t getting any younger and this endless journey probably wasn’t doing his back any favors, but Bobby never uttered a word of complaint. Every now and then Sam would catch him staring at Dean through narrowed eyes, his expression contemplative, and he knew Bobby was thinking about the old Dean. How they’d never see him again. How he’d walked in on this new version lying on top of his brother with every intention of…

Sam tried not to think about it.

Dean hadn’t been fed since they’d left Sioux Falls. With every hour that passed he grew paler and his moans got louder; after a while he started crying pathetically, so lost in the pain and hunger that it nearly broke Sam’s heart. Even the way Dean _cried_ was different when he was a vampire, though: he was noisy and whiny, interspersing sobs with swearwords. He cursed them all so many times over that Sam, in his exhaustion, came perilously close to finding it funny. He had to clamp down on his laughter, knowing it would sound hysterical, and concentrated on driving instead.

They didn’t talk much. Didn’t seem to be any point.

It was two in the morning when Dean started claiming he was the old Dean again. “I’m so sorry, Sammy,” he wept, his voice husky and strained. “It wasn’t me – I swear it wasn’t me! I couldn’t stop it, you gotta believe me, right? Please let me go, man. I’m back now, I swear it. I can’t believe I hurt you… I’m so sorry, I really am! Please, Sam. Please. Let me go. I can control it now, I swear it.”

“He’s lying,” Castiel said flatly. “This isn’t really him.”

Dean sobbed. “Oh God, Cas, what did I do to you? I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, Cas. Please?”

“But you said he’d appeared before,” Sam asked, puzzled. “Why is he different now?”

“Because he isn’t asking us to kill him,” said Castiel, and the moment he said it Dean called him a _motherfucker_ and started to beg him for some blood.

Sam just drove.

 

~ ~ ~

The next day they pulled up outside a library in a tiny town in Texas which was inexplicably deserted.

“Lucifer’s in there,” Dean croaked, with a wet-sounding cough.

“Great,” Sam said, swallowing nervously. “Now what?”

 

~ ~ ~


	9. Chapter 9

~ ~ ~

 

 

They had one hell of a problem now, and that problem was Dean.

Alright, so he’d led them to where Lucifer was hanging out: the fact the town was deserted and an electrical storm was gathering over the library building seemed to indicate he hadn’t been lying about who they were following. The sun was setting somewhere behind the clouds and the streetlights started blinking on as Sam climbed out of the car, but they fizzled and sparked in a way that cried out _demon_. Lucifer was definitely there. Sam felt like he could smell him himself now.

Dean hadn’t lied. But how could they persuade him to go inside the building and face down the Devil?

Castiel pulled Dean out of the car and propped him against the side, holding him upright with a hand on the shoulder where he’d burnt him over a year before. Dean’s legs almost buckled; his face was gray in the dim light and his hair was damp with sweat. His eyes were cloudy and he was shaking so hard he made the car’s suspension squeak as he leant against it. He was clearly in no shape to meet Lucifer, even if he did want to. This was going to be difficult.

“What’s the plan?” asked Bobby, pulling his baseball cap down firmly over his eyes. It felt like it was going to rain at any moment.

Castiel was staring at the library, which was an imposing red-brick building with a bell tower poised regally on the roof. When he turned back to Sam he was scowling. “I can’t go in there,” he announced. “He has placed wards around the walls. They are dangerous to angels.”

“Great,” Bobby grumbled. “Any way we can we break ’em for you? I don’t fancy strollin’ inside without some angelic back-up.”

Castiel shook his head. “They’re too high for you to reach. Several are on the roof.”

“Lucifer’s an angel, isn’t he?” Sam queried, puzzled. “Why don’t they affect him?”

“He’s more demon than angel now.” Castiel looked annoyed. “And I believe he created them.”

A sudden gust of wind whipped fallen leaves through the air and a squall of water soaked them through. Sam gazed at the library, thinking furiously, before turning to Dean. He placed a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes; the beard Dean had grown in the last few weeks felt strange under his palm. “This is it,” he said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the pitter-patter of raindrops. “You know what you have to do, Dean. After this you can have your peace.”

“You have got… to be kidding me,” Dean said brokenly, his words slurring. “I couldn’t fight my way… out of a paper bag right now, thanks… to you.”

Sam raised his eyes to look at Castiel. “If Cas feeds you, will you do it?”

Castiel licked his lips nervously. He looked apprehensive, but Sam couldn’t see another way to do this. Dean had to be strong enough to fight or talk or _something._ They had to give him the chance, because they had no other choice.

Dean huffed out a bitter laugh. “Like I’m gonna say no. You… know how hungry I am.”

Sam met his gaze as firmly as he could. If ever he could appeal to his brother underneath all that vampire soullessness, this was his only chance. Dean couldn’t let them down now. It was _prophesized._ Sam didn’t even know if he believed it or not, but they were here, and it was a straw he had to clutch at.

“I want you to promise me you’ll do your best to bring him down, Dean,” he told him urgently. “After everything you’ve done over the last few weeks, this is your only chance to redeem yourself. I can’t guarantee any of us will come out of this alive, but you have to try to send Lucifer back to Hell. He’s going to destroy the world, Dean. You know what that means for us as well as you.”

Dean blinked at him wearily, raindrops trickling down his face. His forehead creased and he sighed, looking down at the ground. “I can’t promise you anything,” he said quietly. “I’m a fucking _vampire_ , Sammy. I don’t have a… conscience. All I have is hunger.” He looked up at him, and his eyes were sad. “You know that more than anyone.”

He sounded almost his old self. Sam couldn’t help but feel a splinter of hope, even though he was fairly sure it was because Dean was simply tired and sick and hungry. “Is that… you?” he asked, hating his voice for sounding so needy.

Dean smiled, but it wasn’t a comforting expression. “It’s been me all along, dude. When will you finally accept that?”

Disheartened, Sam stepped backwards; so much for getting through to him. But Dean hadn’t finished talking. “I’ll go in there and I’ll see what I can do,” he declared, his words interrupted by a coughing fit. “But you... have to promise me you’ll let me go. If I defeat that son of a bitch, you don’t kill me. I know you’re… a man of your word, Sammy. If you promise, I’ll believe you.”

Sam swallowed, torn. He wanted to promise, but he didn’t trust him. And he also didn’t want him to live once all this was over: the thought of vampire Dean heading out into the world to cause havoc felt like a scaled-down version of Lucifer being set free. But Dean’s eyes were wide and filled with earnestness – not to mention a little calculated manipulation – and Sam realized, yet again, that he didn’t really have a choice.

“Okay, I promise,” he agreed, and when he crossed his fingers behind his back he knew that Castiel and Bobby could see them and hated himself for lying. “We won’t kill you, Dean. If you send Lucifer packing, you can live.”

Dean nodded, his shoulders slumping. “Untie me,” he ordered, shivering as lightning flashed above them and the rain came down in torrents.

Bobby obliged. Dean rubbed his arms and stared at Castiel pointedly until the angel removed his coat and jacket and pulled up one of his sleeves. The rain plastered his shirt to his body in seconds, but he didn’t seem to feel the cold as he held out his wrist to Dean. “This will restore you to health,” he said calmly, although Sam could see tension coiled in his shoulders and in the set of his jaw. “And it shouldn’t contain enough Grace to stop you passing by the wards.”

“I’m no fuckin’ angel,” Dean agreed, and ripped open Castiel’s wrist with what looked like unbearable hunger.

 

~ ~ ~

 

They stood before the library’s double doors, light streaming out from the windows above them and spilling into the darkness. There were no lights on anywhere else in the town. Sam had a nasty suspicion it was because nobody was around to need them.

He turned to look at Dean, who was gazing at the doors through narrowed eyes. He kept licking his lips, obviously still high from his latest feed. There was no trace of the poison left in his system now and he looked a million times better, strong and sure of himself. _Dangerous._ Every instinct screamed at Sam to run away from him and he kept his hand on the syringe of dead man’s blood in his pocket, but Dean hadn’t made any suspicious movements yet. He actually looked thoughtful, if anything.

Sam wondered if he’d known he was lying when he’d promised not to kill him.

“I can’t go any further,” Castiel said from behind him. “The wards are too strong.”

Sam glanced round. “Good luck, Cas. We’ll distract him for as long as we can. Do you really think this will work?”

“It should,” Castiel replied bluntly. He was going to construct an elaborate Devil’s Trap around the building, hoping to keep Lucifer contained in spite of whatever might happen inside. When Bobby had asked him what he was going to make it from – it was raining too hard for them to use salt, even if they were somehow able to conjure up the vast quantities needed – Castiel had fixed him firmly with his gaze and answered simply, “Iron.” Sam imagined him flying from roof to roof and pulling off drainpipes and overflows, ripping apart bridges and construction sites to use in the trap, working as fast as he could to create it before Lucifer realized what he was doing. He looked determined, but there was also something in his eyes Sam didn’t recognize, and it troubled him. Evasiveness, perhaps. Something of the old scheming angel that they’d first met so long ago.

“Be careful,” Sam told him.

Castiel nodded. His eyes rested on Dean for a moment, but Dean didn’t look around or register his presence in any way. Sam saw Castiel swallow and then he turned and walked back out into the rain without another word.

“Are we goin’ in or not?” Dean asked imperiously. “I want to get this over with.”

Bobby took a deep breath and lifted his gun. “Here goes nothin’.”

The doors opened before them. They didn’t seem to be automatic; they merely swung open invitingly of their own accord. Dean blinked at them and laughed. “I guess he can smell us too,” he declared, and marched into the building without a second thought. Exchanging a nervous glance with Bobby, Sam followed.

There were books everywhere. It was a library, of course, so that was hardly a shock, but none of the books were on their shelves any more – they were heaped in the middle of the building’s vast atrium like a paper mountain, thousands of hardbacked volumes and paperbacks arranged as though they were going to be burned in a giant bonfire. Sam stared at the chaos, surprised, and then saw that many of the books were glistening wet under the harsh neon striplights. _Blood._ He looked closer and saw that there were people mixed in with the mess, legs and arms and feet poking out at awkward angles. The library smelt of death and copper.

“Who says reading isn’t fun?” Dean quipped, standing with his hands on his hips before the tower. “I could definitely eat those words.”

“Jesus,” Bobby breathed quietly, tapping Sam on the arm with his gun. Sam followed his gaze and saw a row of at least twenty bodies hanging from the balcony on the library’s upper floor – women and children, mostly, all of them blue, blood-streaked and well and truly dead. His stomach rolled at the sight.

“I see we’ve got our own mini-apocalypse right here,” Dean said brightly. “But where’s our host? Shouldn’t he be greeting his guests right about now?”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” said a voice. Sam twisted to face its owner, his hand holding the hilt of Ruby’s knife tightly behind his back. He knew it wouldn’t work on a creature as powerful as this, but it might slow him down. He had to have faith that that would be enough.

Lucifer stepped out from behind an empty bookcase, and Sam caught his breath at the sight of him. When he’d seen him last, he’d been oddly silent as his demons had tried to get Sam to join their cause. He’d watched and laughed as they’d tortured the staff at the nature reserve, and suggested that Sam get thrown to the wolves, but that had been it. Sam had had the feeling he was happy to sit back and let his followers do his nasty work for him.

This was not the same Lucifer. The body was the same, yes, the mildly handsome businessman named Phil who was probably inside him right now, screaming and begging to be set free. But everything else about him had changed. Lucifer was coated in blood from head to toe, the whites of his eyes shining brightly out of a scarlet face. His clothes were a ruined mess, shredded and hanging off him in rags. He was barefoot. He tilted his head to the side as he stared at Sam, twitching his fingers in tiny bursts, and there was an energy radiating from him that said quite clearly, _I am in control here. Don’t fuck with me or I’ll end you._

“I rescued him,” Dean confessed breezily, not thrown in the least by Lucifer’s appearance. “Didn’t know what I was doin’ at the time, and now I kind of regret it. But those wolves were finger-lickin’ good. Thanks for that.”

Lucifer’s eyes slid over to Dean. He studied him for a few seconds before smiling broadly, his teeth impossibly white against all the blood. “You’re a _vampire_ ,” he declared, sounding pleased. “How spectacular for you, Dean.”

Dean shrugged. “It has its ups and downs.” He looked around him at the carnage before fixing Lucifer with his gaze. “Next time you have a party, wanna send me an invitation? I hate missing all the fun.”

Lucifer blinked his eyes back to Sam. “You’re Dean’s prisoner,” he said flatly.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but his brother jumped in first. “Yeah, he is,” he announced. “Both of them. Gifts for you, though I don’t know what you want to do with the old hunter except punish him for being a royal pain the ass all his life.”

Lucifer sniffed. He waved a hand and Bobby yelled as he was thrown halfway across the library, landing at the base of the book tower with a thump that made Sam wince. He groaned once and lay still, a few books sliding down the pile and landing on him while the rest wobbled precariously.

“You brought me _Sam,_ ” Lucifer drawled, looking him up and down. He began to circle him, keeping just far enough away for Sam not to risk stabbing him in case he missed. “That was very kind of you, Dean.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s the least I could do. These guys have been begging me to kill you for months now. Figured I’d show up and get you to get rid of them for me. There’s an angel outside, too, building a giant Devil’s Trap to keep you in here.”

“Dean!” Sam snapped, outraged. It wasn’t as though he’d expected any loyalty from his brother these days, but the extent of his immorality still shocked him.

Lucifer snorted. “No Devil’s Trap could keep me in here. I created the traps in the first place and all the angels know it. He wouldn’t waste his time building something so useless.” He scowled at Dean. “What is he really doing?”

Dean blinked at him, confused, mirroring the look on Sam’s face. Lucifer created the traps? Why hadn’t Castiel mentioned that? Surely he hadn’t forgotten?

“Search me,” Dean said, shaking his head. “First I’ve heard of all this. I guess he was lying, then. Maybe he thinks he’s gonna call for some help from the angels or somethin’.”

“The angels want the apocalypse,” Lucifer said, with a short laugh that sounded a little hysterical. “All that time I brooded and planned and schemed… I concocted a million different ways to destroy your unclean hordes, knowing it would hurt my Father so much to see them suffer. And then I finally escape my chains and discover my brothers want them dead, too. All that time, _wasted._ I was hurled into Perdition because I would not bow before humanity and now the rest of the angels feel the same way. It was all for nothing, Dean. A waste of time. All that suffering, all that screaming…”

His voice trailed off. He stood with his fists clenched, staring at Dean with a vicious hunger in his eyes, and Sam suddenly realized why Lucifer hadn’t destroyed the world yet. Why he’d been out of Hell for months and had barely killed a thousand souls.

“You don’t want the apocalypse,” he declared, amazed. “You hate the angels so much you’re refusing to give them what they want.”

“I will not do their dirty work for them,” spat Lucifer.

“Well, ain’t you just the biggest party pooper in history?” Dean laughed, folding his arms. He didn’t seem to be afraid of Lucifer; he simply seemed amused by the whole thing. “They must be thoroughly pissed with you by now, huh? Throwin’ such a big spanner in the works?”

Sam had a sudden memory of Zachariah asking him to stand by Lucifer’s side and everything fell into place. The angels were at a loss. Everything they’d done to ensure that Lucifer escaped from Hell – everything _Sam_ had unwittingly done to help them – none of it had mattered. Lucifer wasn’t interested. Maybe that’s why they’d turned Dean into a vampire: to stop him from killing this creature as he was supposed to do. They wanted Lucifer alive for as long as possible in case he changed his mind. This was all one giant, fucked-up plan, and Sam had just walked himself, Bobby and his brother right into the middle of the madness.

“I am not the angels’ toy,” Lucifer snarled, and Sam flinched in surprise as the walls of the building shook slightly from the force of his words.

“Of course you’re not, man,” Dean said calmly. “But they like to think you are. Fuck, you should see what they’ve been doin’ to me over the last year and a half. I know exactly how you’re feeling.”

Something flashed in Lucifer’s eyes, something hard and wicked. Sam saw it and felt his blood run cold. Lucifer was crazy. He’d spent millennia in prison and now he’d been freed his very reason for living had been taken away from him. He was absolutely nuts – a messed-up, bitter and twisted demon with no way of venting his anger except by killing small pockets of humans rather than the whole damn planet, as the angels wanted. The paradox had clearly driven him insane.

“I would like to change hosts,” Lucifer said unexpectedly. He twitched and licked his lips before turning to Sam. “Your body is big and I like your hands. You have good hands. I could do a lot with those hands.”

Sam took a step backwards, sickened. He had the anti-possession ward on his chest but he knew damn well Lucifer could get past it – all he’d have to do would be to scratch a line through it. If he wanted to possess him, Sam wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Dean was staring at him thoughtfully. “I guess he would make a good host,” he observed, humor twisting the words. “Lord knows, he wouldn’t let _me_ get inside him.”

Lucifer moved closer. Sam held out his hands in a feeble attempt to warn him off. “Don’t do this,” he panted, suddenly terrified. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go down. Dean was supposed to stop Lucifer! Castiel was supposed to be building a Devil’s Trap! What the hell was going on?

“You can’t order me around like the angels,” Lucifer hissed, blood dripping from his fingers as he took another step closer. “You’re mine, Sam.”

Beside them, Dean cleared his throat with an exaggerated cough. “Uh, Lucifer… sir? Can I ask you something?”

Slowly, as though unable to believe someone had had the temerity to interrupt him, the Devil turned to stare at Dean, who grinned disarmingly. “If you’re gonna jump out of that body and into his, can I ask a favor?” he queried. “I’ve been drinkin’ angel blood and it’s the best fucking thing _ever_. But I’m betting your blood’s even better. Can I feed on you first? It’s not like you’ll have to heal the body or anything once I’m done. You’re leaving it anyway.”

Lucifer growled. “You certainly have no fear, do you, vampire?”

Dean chuckled. “Can’t blame a vamp for trying. The thing is, you’ll enjoy it. I’m just as good at biting as I am at sex, and I’m _really_ good at sex. I know for sure that Castiel couldn’t get enough of me.”

At that, Lucifer finally turned enough of his attention onto Dean for Sam to start backing away again. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get far, but it was all he could do.

“Castiel?” asked the demon, sounding puzzled. “My brother let you drink from him?”

“More times than I can count.” Dean’s voice was impossibly confident. “He totally got off on it, too. His halo’s slipped in more ways than one.”

Lucifer grabbed Dean’s arm and sniffed at his wrist. “I can smell his blood,” he announced, amazed. “You aren’t lying.”

“Why would I lie to you?” Dean clicked his fingers. “Oh, right, _vampire_. Good point. But I’m feelin’ truthful today. It’s been a bit of a weird week.”

Lucifer stared at him, sizing him up, and Sam took another step backwards. Then he yelped in surprise as his feet left the floor completely and he shot up into the air, finding himself suspended near the glass ceiling with the ground a long, long way below him. He froze, terrified, knowing that Lucifer was holding him in place and wouldn’t think twice about dropping him to his death: after all, he could heal Sam’s body the moment he entered it. He was being held up here merely to keep him out of the way until Lucifer was ready, dangling forty feet about the ground like a puppet with no hope of saving himself.

_Fuck!_

He watched in helpless horror as Lucifer and Dean continued to talk, their voices too far away for him to hear now. Below him, at the base of the book mountain, Bobby was stirring; Sam spared a moment to be grateful he wasn’t dead before a flash of lightning coincided with all the lights in the library flickering on and off. He turned his head, staring out of a nearby, rain-streaked skylight, and saw more jagged lightning dance across the clouds outside.

The flash lit up a face staring in the window.

Sam gasped in shock, the unexpected sight almost scaring him out of his wits. It was Castiel. He was leaning with his hands on the glass, staring in at him with a determined expression, and his eyes kept shooting glances down at the rest of the library. Sam followed his gaze in time to see Dean lean forward and fasten his mouth on Lucifer’s neck; he heard Lucifer moan in rapture as he bit him, hands clutching at Dean’s back, and Sam caught his breath in surprise. Dean actually talked him into it? How the hell had he managed that?

He turned back to Castiel, who was frowning as he stared down at Dean; the rain pouring down the glass made his face look fractured. Lightning flashed again and Sam caught a brief, tantalizing glimpse of wings cutting through the air over the angel’s shoulders, dark shadows moving up and down so smoothly his body didn’t even shudder as they held him in place on the roof. He lifted his eyes to stare at Sam again, fisting his hands against the glass, and Sam shook his head. He knew he couldn’t get inside and help him. There wasn’t anything he could do. He understood.

Another flash, and Castiel was gone.

Sam dropped a few feet, leaving his stomach up in the rafters. _What the hell…?_ He held his breath, heart pounding in his chest, trying not to move a muscle, and looked below him. Dean was still drinking and Lucifer was making low, delighted moans, his head thrown back in ecstacy; as Sam watched, he slowly sank down onto his knees and Dean followed him, pushing him back onto the floor, making rumbled moans of approval in return that were clearly audible from a distance. It sounded as though they were having sex, and Sam didn’t doubt that both of them were enjoying the experience. _Sick, sick, sick._

And then Sam fell another foot through the air and realized that he was in trouble. His mind flashed back to when Castiel had fallen unconscious and the green room had disappeared – the same thing was happening here. Lucifer was weakening and his concentration was waning. He couldn’t keep Sam in the air much longer: the more Dean drank, the more distracted he became. Which meant two things: _Lucifer was vulnerable_ …

…and Sam was going to die. No way could he survive a fall like this.

Helplessly, he looked back up at the skylight, but Castiel wasn’t there. Bobby was lying on his back below him, staring up at him in horror, and Sam lifted his hand to throw Ruby’s knife down to him, knowing that he was the only one who could possibly hurt Lucifer now.

But it was too late; Lucifer let out a blood-curdling moan and the force holding Sam in the air totally disappeared. He dropped the knife and scrabbled at the air, knowing it was hopeless, but somehow he was knocked sideways, just far enough for him to throw his hands out and clutch blindly at the balcony on the building’s second level as he passed it. By some miracle his fingers fastened around a wooden banister and he _whuffed_ out a gasp as his descent was halted, the impact wrenching his shoulder painfully. He swung in the air, still high enough above the ground for it to be serious, and tried to hook his arm around the banister for extra leverage.

The wood splintered under his grip. “ _No_ ,” he gasped as the banister snapped off in his hand, and he was falling again a second later.

He didn’t hit the ground square; he landed on a wooden bench, bouncing off it and rolling across the floor with the sound of his arm snapping ringing in his ears. Pain exploded down one side of him but it was familiar pain, the kind he’d felt before – broken bones and twisted tendons but nothing more serious. He hadn’t bashed his brains out or punctured his lungs; he’d just broken his left arm, in several places from the feel of it, and his shoulder felt weird. But he was alive and that was more than he’d been counting on, and the relief that swept through him almost overcame the agony.

He lay still for a short time, shocked, before lifting his head from the floor. Bobby was lying a few feet away among the books, clutching at his leg and staring at him through wide eyes. Sam cursed inwardly as he saw Bobby’s leg was twisted and clearly broken. He wouldn’t be able to stab Lucifer. Sam would have to do it. But where the fuck was the knife?

The lights flickered on and off again as he forced himself onto his knees and began to search, sweating as the pain from his mangled arm swept over him in waves. He glanced over at his brother and Lucifer, who were twisted together on the floor and seemed to be completely unaware that he’d even fallen. Lucifer was scraping his fingernails down Dean’s back and tearing through his clothes, his legs open and his body bucking up against him. It looked obscene and Sam had to fight off nausea from both his injuries and the sight of it.

“Over there,” Bobby whispered forcefully, pointing towards a row of benches with a shaking hand. Sam investigated, hissing in pain as he moved, and found the knife lying on the floor. As he bent to pick it up he felt something cold and wet against his side – patting his pocket, he realized that the syringe containing the dead man’s blood had broken in the fall. Great. Even if stabbing Lucifer incapacitated him, now he had no way of fighting off Dean. Sam took a deep breath, reconciling himself to the fact.

_He was going to die here._

He had to stop Lucifer, though. He could change his mind about the apocalypse. He was already killing people. He was insane. Sam had a brief mental image of Lucifer climbing inside his body and teaming up with Dean to go on a murderous rampage across the country, and he knew he had no choice but to do this.

He gripped the knife in his left hand, straightened and staggered across the room until he was standing over his brother. Dean sensed him; he released Lucifer’s neck and looked up, yellow eyes glistening with bloodlust, the lower half of his face smothered in blood. Below him, Lucifer was lying with his eyes closed and a smile on his face. There were white lines through the blood on his face where Dean had clearly licked him.

Sam lifted the knife. Dean looked at the blade, then looked down at Lucifer. Sam braced himself for his brother to knock the weapon out of his hand as he lowered it, but Dean seemed to make a split-second decision and threw himself out of the way instead. The knife plunged deep into Lucifer’s chest and his eyes snapped open as he screamed, the sound so shrill that every window in the building shattered. Sam fell onto his knees with a strangled yell, trying to cover his ears with only one hand and failing, the sound cutting through his head like the knife had just cut through Lucifer. Dean screamed beside him, clutching at his own ears, as glass rained down from the ceiling and narrowly missed cutting them all to ribbons.

The screaming stopped; Lucifer was arching and spasming on the floor, trying desperately to pull the knife out but apparently unable to do it. Crackles and sparks shot from the hilt and coursed over his body. Sam watched with a sense of numb fascination as he jerked, swearing and groaning, and then belatedly realized that the roaring sound in his ears wasn’t anything to do with the scream he’d just heard. Plaster fell to the ground beside him and he looked up to see cracks snaking across the library’s ceiling. The walls were shaking. From somewhere on the roof came the sound of the bell in the bell tower clanging as the building moved violently. Bookshelves toppled and the lights fizzed on and off a few times, a few of them shooting sparks.

They had to get out of here.

Sam staggered over to Bobby and pulled his arm around his shoulders, trying to get him to his feet so he could drag him outside, but the pain was too much for both of them and they cried out and fell down again. _Dammit._ The tower of books was starting to slide everywhichway, volumes banging into them both as they sat and panted, and Sam flinched and tried to shield Bobby as one of the balconies above them creaked and came away from the wall, spilling books and furniture into the space below.

“Get the hell outta here, Sam!” Bobby yelled in his ear, shoving him as hard as he could. “Go!”

“I’m not leaving you!” Sam shouted, and he tried to pull him to his feet again. Another burst of agony shot through his shoulder and arm and he staggered, falling to his knees. It was impossible; he was in too much pain. He looked over at Lucifer and saw that he was now sitting upright, his hands clasped firmly around the knife hilt, his face twisted in torment. Dean was on his hands and knees beside him and Sam felt a jolt of terror hit him when he saw that his brother’s eyes were black. He’d drunk Lucifer’s blood and… what? Had it turned him into a demon, too? What the hell?

Then Lucifer pulled out the knife and the walls stopped shaking.

_Uh-oh._

“It’ll take more than that to send me back,” he hissed, pain clearly audible in his voice. He looked across at Sam and Bobby and scowled. “But I can send _you_ to Hell instead...”

The library doors suddenly slammed open, making everybody – including Lucifer – jump and stare at them. Castiel strode inside the building with a gust of wind at his heels, the gale making the pages of a thousand books riffle in the air as he walked. He didn’t look at Sam or Dean or Bobby: he only had eyes for Lucifer as he marched towards him. Sam had just enough time to figure out that the wards must have broken when the library had almost shaken apart before Castiel reached down and yanked Lucifer to his feet, propelling him before him until he slammed into a wall so hard that masonry rained down over the two of them.

“No!” screamed Lucifer, struggling, but he was clearly still too weak.

“You will leave here,” Castiel growled, and lightning flashed in time with his words. “You are unworthy of this world.”

“Dean!” yelled Lucifer, surprising them all. “Help me! Dean!”

Sam looked across at his brother, who was staring over at the scene unfolding before him through suspiciously black eyes. His whole body was shaking and he was clutching his stomach as though he was in pain. “Fuck you!” he hissed. “You poisoned me, you son of a bitch!”

Lucifer tried to wriggle out of Castiel’s grip but he didn’t stand a chance. The walls started shaking again as the angel lifted a hand to his forehead and placed his palm on it, reciting something that sounded like a prayer. Whatever it was, it made Lucifer scream in agony and Sam almost screamed too, the sound completely and utterly unbearable as it echoed from the walls of the library. He ducked his head, trying desperately to get away from the noise, and then it stopped.

He looked up. Black smoke swirled in the air, the tell-tale demon sign sparking with light here and there as though it contained more than it should. Castiel released the dead body in his hands and stared up at it with hatred. “Go!” he commanded, and the smoke poured through the floor and disappeared.

Sam gasped, stunned beyond belief. Castiel had done it. Lucifer was gone.

The angel turned to face them at precisely the same second all the lights in the library snapped off, but the room didn’t fall into darkness because Castiel was _glowing_. He walked over to Dean with the same look on his face that he’d had while facing down Lucifer, and despite the fact he was only dressed in a white shirt and pants and was dripping wet from the rain, he was possibly the most awe-inspiring thing Sam had ever seen. He all but crackled with power. He was nothing like the Castiel they’d left outside the building earlier.

“What in the name of creation happened to _him?_ ” Bobby breathed, and Sam shook his head, unable to answer.

Castiel knelt beside Dean, who was shaking and gasping on the floor. His eyes were still black and his hands were curled around his stomach as though he was in sheer agony. “Get it out of me, Cas,” he begged. “He tasted so good and then it was like it all went wrong inside me… please, get it out of me!”

“My blood and Lucifer’s blood were never meant to mix,” Castiel told him sternly. “You will die from this.”

“Fuckin’ _great,_ ” Dean snapped, with a groan. “You couldn’t have warned a guy?”

It took two attempts, but Sam managed to get to his feet and lurched over to them, the pain from his arm so severe that dizziness swept over him as he knelt beside Castiel. Dean glared up at him piteously. “Looks like… you got what you wanted after all,” he muttered. “I knew you were lyin’ when you said you’d keep me alive, but I wasn’t expecting to go out like this. I thought I had… a fightin’ chance.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam told him, tears catching in his throat. “I’m so sorry it had to end like this. You know I love you, right? Despite everything?”

“Oh, fuck you, Mother Teresa,” Dean snarled.

Sam swallowed down his grief, not wanting those words to be the last thing he’d ever hear his brother speak. “Dean, please…”

“Close your eyes, Sam. And you too, Bobby.” Castiel’s voice brooked no opposition as he placed a hand on Dean’s forehead.

Sam frowned. “What’re you…”

“I said _close your eyes_.”

Sam closed them. He heard Dean moaning and then a light grew steadily brighter behind his eyelids. Dean started to scream, begging for it to stop, and then he yelled, _No! No! No!_ as the light increased in intensity. It was all Sam could do not to look as his brother howled and swore, until suddenly there was silence and everything went black.

He opened his eyes. Dean was lying on his back, bathed in the glow from Castiel’s body. He was staring up at nothing and his eyes were their normal color again. For a moment, a hideous, heart-stopping moment, Sam thought he was dead, but then his brother gulped down a deep breath and blinked rapidly.

“Oh my God… no…” Dean gasped.

“D-Dean?” Sam asked, suddenly understanding what Castiel had done. “Is that you? _Dean?_ ”

His brother began to gag. He lifted himself off the floor with his elbows and turned on his side just as his stomach emptied its contents, blood spewing everywhere as he choked and gasped. Sam watched, freaked out, as everything Dean had eaten in the last day poured out of him while his body trembled and shook. It didn’t take long and then Dean collapsed face-down in the middle of it, his eyes fluttering closed and his fingers flexing and twitching in the blood.

“He is only cured physically,” Castiel said gently, stroking a hand down Dean’s arm. “He will not be himself for quite some time. He has a tremendous capacity for guilt.”

Sam gaped at him, fighting the urge to say _No shit, Sherlock_ , but he wasn’t sure his voice even worked right now. He was still trying to process everything. How the hell had Castiel just done that, when he’d been telling him for weeks that he couldn’t?

Castiel’s eyes fell on Sam’s shoulder and he placed a hand on it. Sam yelped, instinctively trying to escape his touch, but the angel held him firm and closed his eyes. He glowed a little brighter for a few seconds and Sam felt the pain ebb away. Something moved and twisted inside his shoulder and along his arm; he could _feel_ bones knitting together, tendons recovering, bruises disappearing. By the time Castiel released his grip Sam felt fantastic, every inch his old self.

He grinned in relief. “Thank you,” he said, and it wasn’t just for healing him.

“You are welcome,” Castiel replied, his eyes flashing with warmth.

“It was you, wasn’t it? When I fell – you managed to nudge me sideways so I had something to grab onto, even if it only broke my fall a little.”

Castiel nodded. “The wards were too strong for me to help in any other way. I’m only sorry I couldn’t help you further.”

Sam patted him on the arm. “Oh, you did enough, don’t worry.”

“Hey, sorry to interrupt your bondin' session, but is there any of that healing juice left for me?”

Bobby’s voice was tight with pain. Castiel went over to him as Sam stared down at Dean; his brother was unconscious, but his face was more peaceful than Sam had seen it for weeks, despite its coating of blood. He was human again. After everything, after all they’d gone through, he was back. He took his hand and squeezed it happily: Dean was Dean once more. He couldn’t believe it.

“Well, isn’t this a heartwarming sight?” Zachariah piped up from behind him, just as all the lights came back on.

Sam jumped to his feet. The angel was standing with his hands on his hips, staring down at Dean and the pool of blood, and then his eyes darted around the ruined library. “I think Lucifer was trying to catch up on his reading,” he said wryly. “All those years in Hell and he missed out on some real classics. _Paradise Lost_ , _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_ , _Harry Potter_ …” He shrugged. “On second thoughts, sheesh. No wonder he let Dean bite him.”

Sam glanced at Castiel, who was standing beside Bobby with his head bowed. Bobby was on his feet again, fully healed, color back in his cheeks. He was frowning at Zachariah with absolute hatred.

“Aren’t you pissed?” Sam asked Zachariah, confused. “Castiel just sent Lucifer back to Hell. That’s not what you wanted, surely?”

Zachariah grinned. “Who do you think juiced him up so he could do it, eh? Who do you think gave him the power to de-fang your brother?”

Sam tried to understand, but something was eluding him here. “What? Why would you do that?”

“Castiel struck a deal,” the angel explained, picking up a book and flicking through it. “The minute you walked through the doors and into this place he summoned me and offered to give himself up if I’d help him. Of course, he knew damn well I could’ve taken him prisoner at any time – and hey, we’d already held and released him once. But the fact he came willingly… well, that made all the difference.”

“You wanted Cas more than you wanted Lucifer?” Sam was aghast, but Zachariah shook his head.

“Don’t be dense, Sam. Castiel’s not that important. But over the last few months we’d come to realize that perhaps Lucifer wasn’t all we thought he was. He was a total nutjob, true, and that’s usually the first sign that he’s ripe for some apocalypsing, but apparently he preferred to read a good book.” He tossed the paperback in his hand to the floor. “Didn’t you wonder why he was here alone? He killed his demons. Stupid fool. First rule of ruling the world: you don’t kill your followers. Who’s going to worship you if you do that?”

Sam looked at Castiel, but his head was still bowed. He’d stopped glowing, as though he’d used up all his powers healing everybody. He looked thoroughly humbled; almost submissive, even. Sam said his name, but he didn’t look up.

“Why did you do this to Dean?” Bobby asked bitterly.

The angel sighed and indicated Sam with this thumb. “We thought his plight might make Sammy here join Lucifer. And I must admit we did toy with the idea of tricking Lucifer into possessing Dean somehow – imagine all that vampire strength with super-extra demon powers! Man, that would’ve been something. But in the end, we did it because it seemed like a good idea at the time. And it was. I don’t know what was more fun: watching him turn into an animal, Sam pining over him, or Castiel tying himself in knots trying to help. Good times.”

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Bobby grunted, taking a step forward. Castiel reached out and took his wrist, holding him still. He didn’t raise his head.

“I don’t appreciate receiving criticism from a grown man who can’t even wear a clean hat,” Zachariah said smugly. “Cleanliness is next to godliness, you know.”

“What will happen to Cas now?” Sam asked, not sure he really wanted to find out.

Zachariah shrugged. “He’ll be punished. He disobeyed, after all.”

“Can’t you… do you really have to? Can’t you forgive him?”

“No.” Zachariah’s voice was firm. “Everything we’ve done over the last few years – pulling your brother out of Hell, helping Lilith without making it look like we were, setting you on your path to glory… all of it’s been for nothing. Less than a thousand deaths. No apocalypse. The big bad Devil is just a miserable former angel with a chip on his shoulder. After all of that, do you really think we’d deny ourselves the opportunity to take out our frustration on one of our kind who fought against us? We have to get something out of this. And we have standards to keep up.”

“Please, there has to be something…”

Zachariah scowled. “Just be glad we allowed him to heal your brother, Sam. The prophecy was correct, you know. Dean did defeat Lucifer after all. If he hadn’t weakened him enough for you to stab him and weaken him further, neither Castiel or myself would have been strong enough to take him down. The sad thing is that he didn’t fulfil his potential first.” He sighed, looking truly regretful. “All that power, wasted. What a shame.” After pausing for a beat, he looked up and smiled, clapping his hands briskly. “Right then. Enough of the exposition. Why do I always have to spend hours explaining everything? It’s just so _tedious_! Come on, Castiel. Our work here is done.”

Sam shook his head, turning to Castiel. “Come on, Cas… you can’t let him just take you away like this, not after everything that’s happened!”

Castiel finally lifted his head; his expression was so blank it was almost painful to look at. “Take care of your brother, Sam,” he said stiffly. “He is human again, and that is all I need to sustain me.”

He disappeared, Zachariah following him a few seconds later. Sam met Bobby’s gaze and both of them looked down at Dean at the same time.

He was human again. Lucifer was gone. The war was over.

As relieved as he was, somehow Sam didn’t feel particularly victorious.

 

~ ~ ~


	10. Chapter 10

~ ~ ~

 

They drove out of the deserted town as sirens wailed in the distance, signaling that whatever Lucifer had done to the place was about to be discovered by the outside world – Sam had a feeling the library wasn’t the only place piled high with bodies, but they didn’t waste any time finding out. As they pulled away from the building it collapsed behind them with a ground-shaking rumble and whoosh of masonry dust, almost as though their presence had been the only thing keeping it standing. Perhaps the angels had had something to do with it not falling down while they were still inside; perhaps it was just coincidence. Sam didn’t really care. All he knew was that they hadn’t been killed… and Dean was _Dean_ again.

They traveled in silence until they hit the next town and found a half-decent hotel, parking the Impala as close to their room as possible so they could carry Dean inside without being spotted. He hung limply between them, reeking of blood. It took Sam an hour to clean him up while Bobby succumbed to exhaustion, collapsing on the bed across the room with a mumbled apology. Before long he was snoring like a drunken sailor as the evening turned into night and Sam sat by his brother’s bed, staring at him numbly, wondering if everything that had happened had been one long nightmare he’d just woken up from. Maybe it had been.

When Dean finally opened his eyes, he looked up at Sam and asked, “Cas?”

Sam clenched his teeth, not wanting to tell him, but he had no choice. “Zachariah took him. He made a deal to save you.”

Dean closed his eyes again, nodding wearily. “Stupid dumbass angel,” he murmured, and he made a sound that was almost a laugh but more of a sob.

“How do you feel?”

Dean’s eyes flickered open again. He gazed up at Sam and seemed to want to say something, but even though his lips moved, no sound came out. Sam understood regardless. “It’s alright,” he soothed him, squeezing his shoulder. “It wasn’t you. I know that. There’s nothing to forgive, man.”

But Dean shook his head. “No, you’re wrong,” he groaned, his face paling to somewhere near the color it had been for the last few weeks. “It _was_ me. All of it. That’s who I was, down in the Pit. It was already in me, Sammy. The bite just brought it out of me. That’s me, Sam. That’s _me._ ”

“Bullshit. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“It was me,” Dean said again, with so much certainty Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “Oh God, Sam, it was me. What I did to you, what I did to Cas… all of it. That’s what I’m really like. That’s who I am inside. I’m so sorry, Sammy. Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry–”

Sam didn’t think twice; he pulled him off the bed and into a hug, holding him fiercely against him, Dean’s breath warm on his neck. It was the only thing he could do, a gesture of comfort, but Dean’s fingers dug into his back and he kept repeating _I’m sorry_ over and over without stopping, dry-eyed but faintly hysterical, and Sam found that he couldn’t let him go. He tried to tell his brother that he was wrong, that it had been the vampire in him, that everything was okay now and nobody had been hurt. But Dean wouldn’t stop apologizing, talking over him, not even hearing the words, his body trembling wildly.

In the end Sam had to climb into bed with him just so he could get Dean to lie down and hopefully fall asleep. It took him a long, long time, and right before his brother closed his eyes he pushed Sam away and curled up into a ball of misery.

 

~ ~ ~

 

They drove back to Bobby’s. Dean sat in the back seat and stared out of the window with eyes that were dull and listless. Every time they stopped he shook his head when Sam offered him food, although he did drink some water. He didn’t respond in any other way when they spoke to him. Sam played music for a while, hoping it would bring home to his brother the fact that life could be normal again, but he didn’t react.

He was probably in shock. It wasn’t surprising, but it was still worrying.

Sam kept staring at him in the mirror, trying to convince himself that everything was going to be fine. Dean was freaked, yes. He’d spent almost two months as a _vampire,_ for fuck’s sake. It was going to take him a while to get used to being human again, and – being Dean – it would take him even longer to forgive himself his behavior. All Sam and Bobby could do was reassure him that they held no grudges; that they understood it hadn’t really been him, no matter what Dean believed. It was going to be tough, but they’d make it through. They always did. Dean had helped him recover from the whole business with Ruby and Lilith. It wasn’t as though Sam was a stranger to guilt, either, and it was kind of ironic that he’d probably be using some of the very words Dean had said to him then right back in return.

They arrived at Bobby’s after a long, uncomfortable journey. Dean walked into the house, took one look at the spot where he’d attacked Sam and announced brokenly, “I’m going to bed.”

After he’d vanished upstairs, Sam and Bobby stood in the kitchen and stared at each other. Neither of them had to speak. It wasn’t as though there was much they could say.

 

~ ~ ~

Sam knew Dean wasn’t going to recover from what had happened overnight, but the knowledge didn’t make it any easier to watch his brother suffer. He was used to Dean being self-assured and strong, full of his own importance, determined never to show weakness. Even when he’d returned from Hell with the nightmares he’d tried to block with alcohol it hadn’t been this bad. It reminded Sam of when their dad had died, only Dean was grieving for himself now, not for someone else.

Even though he wouldn’t speak, the self-disgust rolled off him in waves; it filled the air around him like a miasma. He curled up in bed for a few hours before showering for so long Bobby started making quips about the local reservoir draining dry. Two hours later he showered again. Sam woke at three in the morning and heard the sound of water running, and the same thing happened as he was making breakfast the next day.

_Lady Macbeth,_ he thought miserably. _Dean’s trying to wash the blood off his hands and it just won’t go._

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked him around midday, poking his head around the door to Bobby’s guest room and trying to make out his brother’s body on the bed. He’d closed the curtains and the room was dark and stuffy.

Dean didn’t reply. Sam stood by the door for a few moments, torn, before walking inside and sitting on the bed. “Hey Dean, look... I know this isn’t easy–”

“Please, Sam. I don’t want to hear it.”

Sam fell silent, staring at him. Dean was lying on his back with an arm flung over his face. _Hiding._ “Can you remember any of it?” he asked eventually.

Dean paused for a short while before replying in a strained voice, “Every minute.”

Sam nodded, even though Dean couldn’t see him. “It’s a miracle we got you back.”

Dean sniffed. “You should’ve sliced off my head the minute I turned.”

“If we’d done that, Lucifer would still be killing people.” Sam tried to make his voice as reasonable as possible. “You saved lives, Dean. Don’t you forget that.”

“If it wasn’t for Cas, I’d have ended up killing far more people than Lucifer would have managed.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t kill anybody. You don’t have to feel bad about anything.”

Dean dropped his arm, staring up at Sam through eyes that looked bloodshot even in the dim light of the room. His hair was damp from his latest shower and he was clean-shaven; Sam had a feeling he’d probably brushed his teeth a million times as well. Aside from the haunted look in his eyes, there wasn’t a single trace of that otherworldliness that had radiated off him for the last few weeks.

“You really think I don’t have to feel bad?” Dean said lifelessly. “Honestly? After what I did to you? I would’ve gone through with it, you know. If Bobby hadn’t turned up…”

“That wasn’t you, Dean,” Sam interrupted, trying desperately not to think about how helpless he’d felt when his brother’s fingers had been undoing the buttons of his jeans. “You were under the influence of both the vampire and Castiel’s blood. It made you crazy and you can’t deny that.”

“I should have been able to stop myself,” Dean declared bitterly. “I was in there and I knew what I was doing. I should have fought harder, Sam! And then there’s what I did to Cas, too. I tore him _apart_. I abused him in so many ways and all he was trying to do was help. And after all of it, the stupid bastard goes and trades himself for me. Where is he? What are they doing to him?”

Sam shook his head sadly. “There’s no way of knowing.”

Dean hissed out a breath and closed his eyes. “I wasn’t worth it.”

Sam punched him on the arm, eliciting a yelp of surprise. “You can stop all that crap right now, Dean. You _are_ worth it. We’ve got you back and Castiel made his own choice. The least you can do is respect his decision.”

Dean blinked up at him, frowning. He seemed to mull it over for a while before saying, “I’m tired, Sammy. I want to sleep.”

Sam hesitated before getting to his feet. “Let me know if you need anything,” he offered kindly, knowing Dean wouldn’t ask for a damn thing. “I’ll be downstairs.”

By the time he’d reached the door, Dean had disappeared under the covers. It was too late, though: Sam had already seen how hard he was shaking.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Two days passed before Sam could persuade Dean to leave his room. He wandered downstairs and sat on the couch, hugging his knees, staring in front of him disinterestedly. Sometime after that Sam made a concerted effort to get him to eat, but he balked when he saw the cheeseburger Bobby placed before him. At their urging he ate half of the bun and some of the lettuce and tomatoes, but that was it. He watched Sam eat his own burger and his face went green.

“I think I’m going vegetarian,” he declared weakly.

Sam waited for him to add more, but he didn’t. He nodded understandingly. “That’s cool,” he agreed. “I can do that too, if you want. It’s no biggie.”

Dean dropped his gaze to his fingers and sighed. “Boy, do I wanna get drunk.”

Bobby answered him this time. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, son. You should probably wait until you’re feelin’ more yourself again.”

Dean shrugged. “Oh yeah, _myself._ Like there hasn’t been enough of that already.”

Sam frowned, annoyed by his defeatism. “Come on, Dean, stop that. Get over it, man. Stop torturing yourself about something that was totally out of your control.”

The old Dean would’ve snapped something back at him; argued; possibly shouted. This Dean simply looked away and closed his eyes. He didn’t even _try_ to argue; it was as though he was too tired.

Sam reached out a hand and smoothed it down his brother’s arm. “Hey. Don’t just give up here, okay? We want you back with us. We know it wasn’t you. Don’t go beating yourself up over this, Dean. You need to get on with your life.”

Dean didn’t reply. Sam looked up at Bobby, who shrugged. “Guess I’ll go clear out the freezer,” he announced. “Got six months of meat in there none of us are gonna be eatin’ now.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Dean spent days just _sitting_. He stared off into space and didn’t take part in any conversation, even when Sam or Bobby tried their damnedest to include him. He answered their questions with short, one-word answers. He drank water but barely touched anything else, even if it wasn’t meat. After a week Sam could see he was thinner, and when he mentioned it Dean just shrugged.

“I’m not hungry,” he explained, as though starving himself to death was the answer for anything.

He didn’t speak about what had happened any more, and Sam didn’t push him. He didn’t mention Castiel, either. He glanced through newspapers from time to time, staring at the sports pages with eyes that didn’t focus, and he wouldn’t watch TV. It was as though it was too much for him to concentrate on. Mostly he just sat and looked blank, like he was struggling to come to terms with everything; like something huge was going on inside him and he didn’t want it spilling out onto the outside.

The one thing Dean did make an effort to do was sit in the sun, turning his face up to the sky and soaking up the light. Sam didn’t have to be a psychiatrist to figure out why.

After two weeks, Bobby managed to convince Dean to help him fix up an old pick-up that had been brought in as scrap but still had some life in it. Dean rolled up his sleeves and got down to business, working on the truck from morning till evening. Sam remembered how he’d rebuilt the Impala after the crash while grieving for their father; he figured this was much the same thing, a kind of therapy. Once the truck was finished, Dean simply _sat_ again, so Bobby went out and brought home another one. Sam wondered if Dean had figured out that Bobby had done that just to keep him busy – hell, it wasn’t as though there was much of a market for half-dead trucks round these parts. But Dean said nothing; he just opened the hood and started tinkering with the engine, and Bobby shot Sam a look that clearly said _Well, I’m tryin’ here,_ and went inside the house.

Dean was up to his elbows in motor oil and grease when Sam joined him, sitting on the hood of a nearby vehicle to watch him work. “Need a hand?” he asked, after a silence that wasn’t quite companionable but was near enough to it to make him relax a little.

Dean shook his head. He stood back, wiping down a spark plug with a filthy cloth while he glared at the engine with a frown. Sam stared at him. After a few minutes Dean sighed, dropped the cloth and turned to him. “Quit starin’ at me, Sam,” he grumbled. “It feels like you’re expecting me to explode or something.”

“Aren’t you?” Sam batted back, feeling as though he should push him a little. All this tip-toeing around must be driving Dean as crazy as it was him. “Last time you were like this you took a tire iron to the Impala.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Grieving.” Sam sat back, narrowing his eyes against the sun. “But you’re angry, too, and you think everything’s your fault, and you don’t want to deal with it any more.”

Dean’s expression hardened and he looked away. “Been reading your psychology manuals again, Sammy?”

“I’ve got eyes, Dean. I can see what you’re going through because I’ve been through something like it myself.” He leant forward earnestly. “Just because you were manipulated into being something someone wanted you to be, it doesn’t mean that’s _you._ I know you hate to admit it, but sometimes you can’t fight back, Dean. You lost this one. The vampire took you over. But you’re back now: get over it. Life goes on.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Tell that to Cas.”

His voice was gruff, but Sam noticed the sadness in his eyes and thought about how close Dean must have been to the angel before all of this happened. He thought of how determined Castiel had been to cure him, and how broken he’d been when he’d realized he couldn’t. Sam didn’t really understand their bond – he didn’t even know if it was friendship or love or something else entirely – but he did know that there was every chance they’d never see Castiel again. And Dean couldn’t live his life pining for him.

“Cas is gone, man,” he said gently, because Dean needed to hear it. “He turned himself in so that you could live your life. He’d hate to see you like this.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He leaned over the car, turning his back on his brother, but he didn’t touch the engine. Sam gazed at him for a while, wondering what he was thinking, and then Dean said wearily, “He shouldn’t have done it. Not for me.”

Sam sighed. “He thought you were worth it, Dean. Why don’t you?”

Dean remained still for a short while before he picked up a spanner and started to loosen some bolts. Sam watched him until it began to rain, but even when he went inside, Dean didn’t.

 

~ ~ ~

That night Dean ate a full meal for the first time in weeks, even if it was mostly vegetables. He started to drink coffee again. He began to interject little comments into conversations. After a month there were definite shades of the old Dean in there, and he’d even started teasing Sam, but a lot of it seemed half-hearted. He didn’t smile, however, right up until he walked into the utility room one morning and found Bobby cursing and kicking his washing machine, clutching at something in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, as Sam tried desperately to hide a smile.

“This god- _damn_ machine ruined my god- _damn_ cap!” Bobby grunted, throwing a bundle of plastic and material across the room and making Dean lunge to catch it. He stared down at it, puzzled.

“You washed your baseball cap?”

“That damn angel kept making fun of it and I thought I’d take his advice and put it through a wash. I’ll bet the pompous bastard knew it was gonna fall apart. That was my favorite one, too!”

It was no good: Sam snorted. Dean looked from him to Bobby and raised his eyebrows. “Castiel made fun of your baseball cap?” His voice was baffled.

“No, dumbass – Zachariah. That snooty son of a bitch made me ruin my hat!”

Dean laughed. It was the weirdest thing to hear after so long, but it was also glorious, and Sam laughed with him. Bobby glared at them both, glowering so menacingly that he made them laugh all the more, and then he broke into a wide smile and chuckled too.

After that, Dean seemed… not entirely _fixed_ , but better. Until the nightmares started, anyway, but there wasn’t much anybody could do about them.

 

~ ~ ~

They started to hunt again, leaving Bobby behind with a faint sense of guilt; he’d clearly been enjoying their company. Dean climbed behind the wheel of his baby and drove. If the conversation was a little strained at times, Sam didn’t mind, and Dean used music to fill up the silence instead. They heard rumors of a spirit in Arkansas and investigated, salting and burning her before she could seriously hurt anybody, and as they stood and watched the corpse turn to ashes in front of their eyes Dean looked triumphant. He even managed a full night’s sleep afterwards, and, by extension, so did Sam.

Dean regained some of his former swagger. He started making sarcastic comments. He still wouldn’t eat meat but, after some initial reluctance, he could handle watching his brother do so; Sam held out for as long as he could, but he knew he needed the protein to help with his weight training. Something else Dean wouldn’t do was _flirt_. No matter where they went and who hit on him, Dean never responded. He didn’t even mention sex in any way, shape or form, not even in double-entendres. It was as though he was pretending it didn’t exist, and Sam thought that probably wasn’t healthy.

Drinking half a bottle of whiskey every day wasn’t healthy either, especially when it was topped off with a few beers, but Sam knew better than to say anything. And anyway, it helped his brother sleep.

The third hunt they chose involved a werewolf, which brought back bitter memories for Sam and was the first time Dean had come close to blood since the night they’d beaten Lucifer. Under the guise of FBI agents they walked into the room where the victim had been shredded and then Dean had run out again a second later, taking both Sam and the cop who’d been showing them round by surprise.

“Weak stomach,” Sam declared apologetically, and followed his brother outside. Dean was leaning over a gutter with one hand on the wall, retching. He hadn’t actually been sick but he looked dreadful; his face was gray and shining with sweat.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“I will be,” Dean replied, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand. “All that _blood_. I could smell it when we walked in. It, uh, reminded me of a few things.”

Sam nodded. “I can see how that would happen, yeah.” He waited a while, willing Dean to gather himself together. “That cop thinks you’re a total wuss, by the way.”

Dean shook his head. “If he only knew, huh?” He spat on the floor, fingers flexing against the wall, and groaned. “You’ll have to go in without me. I… might need a minute here, man.”

“Okay. Go get some water or something. I’ll meet you by the car.” He walked into the building again, shooting his brother an anxious glance over his shoulder as he left. Dean had leaned forward until his forehead rested on the wall. His eyes were closed and he looked like he was on the verge of freaking out.

Sam couldn’t help but wonder how the hell they were supposed to hunt if Dean was going to throw up at the sight of blood. Like they didn’t have enough things to worry about.

 

~ ~ ~

Dean got so drunk at a nearby bar that night that Sam had to physically carry him home. He’d picked a fight with three truckers over absolutely nothing, but thankfully the guys – despite looking tough – hadn’t wanted to get physical. Sam had swooped in and dragged his brother away as the bartender had yelled at them to get out and stay out. Sam obliged.

Dean was only semi-conscious by the time Sam placed him on his bed, and as he pulled off his brother’s boots Dean mumbled blearily, “It tasted _so fuckin’ good,_ Sammy. You got no idea… you don’t know...”

Sam didn’t reply. He was pretty sure he knew what his brother was talking about, and it chilled him to the bone.

It had been three months. He was starting to wonder if Dean would ever get over this.

 

~ ~ ~


	11. Chapter 11

~ ~ ~

It had been three months. Dean was starting to wonder if he would ever get over this.

The first few weeks had been hell. He’d tried his damnedest not to lose it, to keep his head together for Sam and Bobby, who were already going quietly frantic with worry over him. But all he could think about was blood. He could taste it in the back of his throat, metallic and bitter. He could smell it in his nostrils. He dreamt about it, fantasized about it, lusted after it. And he hated every minute.

He wasn’t a vampire any more, of course; he was human. Castiel had healed him physically but there were things inside his head that wouldn’t give up on those weeks he’d spent as something else. He didn’t have the strength any more, or the ability to heal himself, or that magnificent, powerful feeling that he was _more than he was_. Instead he was weak, soft and human. Exactly how he should be, but his mind refused to let go of the way he’d felt as a vampire. It craved that power again, and sometimes the loss ached so much that it almost physically hurt.

And the blood. Dear God, the _blood_. Dean still craved it, even though he knew it would make him sick to drink it now. His body had liked it too much; the taste of it had been a rush of pleasure like nothing else he’d ever known, as good as sex; _better_ than sex. It was hard to forget something like that. He gulped down water and tried to eat, but every fiber of his being screamed for more of the stuff; nothing else would fill him quite as well.

Maybe it wasn’t the blood, though. Maybe it was Castiel’s Grace. Dean never found himself dreaming of feeding on Lucifer: that blood had tasted strong and rich, bubbling with power, but it had paled beside the angel’s. Castiel had tasted of something else. Dean had no idea what it was, not really, yet he wanted more of it: it was a yearning that wouldn’t pass. But Castiel had gone with Zachariah. Either he was being punished in some unimaginable way right now, or he was already dead. There were two things Dean couldn’t stop obsessing over when he thought about his behaviour as a vampire: the moment when he’d kissed Sam and decided he’d wanted to screw him senseless, which regularly haunted him and made feel ill, and the way he’d treated Castiel. The angel had loved him. And yet because of Dean he was suffering.

Dean felt so bad it was all he could do not to yell for Zachariah and beg to make another deal, although he had nothing left to offer.

The first few weeks had been hell. After that, Dean had decided to do what Sam suggested: to honor Castiel’s sacrifice by trying to live his life again. It was damn hard, but he managed it. At times he even managed to forget for a while, finding himself laughing with his brother, fighting the bad guys, saving people, hunting things… all the crap he’d done before he’d run across that son of a bitch vampire in the first place.

Sam told him Castiel had killed it. Dean had nodded, pleased, but he’d also been a little disappointed. He’d wanted to cut that bastard’s head off himself. The way it had broken him into pieces, like he’d been a toy… how it had held him down as he’d gasped and choked on his own blood, pouring its own veins down Dean’s throat so he choked on _its_ blood, too… the smug expression on its face when it had held his mouth closed with one slimy, bloody hand and told him the next time he’d open his eyes, he’d be a vampire…

Dean had nightmares about the night he’d turned, but that wasn’t the worst of them by a long way. He dreamt that he’d raped Sam and snapped his neck afterwards. He dreamt he’d ripped out Bobby’s throat, or his father’s, or his mother’s. He dreamt Sam was trying to cut off his head and he was fighting back with everything he had. He even had one recurring dream in which he was ripping Castiel to pieces, bit by bit, and every time the angel screamed he’d follow up the sound with the words _I love you, please don’t do this,_ and Dean would laugh and bend his head to bite at Castiel’s neck so he could drain him and leave a husk behind.

He always woke up screaming, and every time he did Sam would be there at his side, telling him everything was okay, and Dean was so grateful to him for just being there that he often wanted to cry. He never did, though. He never even said thank you. He was the old, stubborn Dean again, and Sam got that. Totally.

He struggled on, fighting the flashbacks and the sense memories and the nightmares. And then he walked into a room filled with blood, smelt it, tasted it in his mouth and felt his soul lurch in hunger, and realized he’d never get over this. It was impossible.

There were too many rooms filled with blood, and he kept on walking into them.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Five months after they’d defeated Lucifer, Dean finally got drunk enough to flirt with a girl he met in a bar in a small town in Kansas. He was pretty far gone, he knew it, and Sam had left him to it an hour ago after Dean assured him he was fine and wasn’t going to start a fight – which was true, because he wasn’t in the mood. He was feeling uncommonly pleased with himself that day. He and Sam had fought off a daeva which was being controlled by a demon who bore a grudge over Lucifer’s death; together they’d defeated them both, but not before the daeva had sliced ‘n’ diced the demon’s host.

Dean had looked at the blood and his mouth hadn’t watered. Hence the pleasant mood. Every now and then he’d wonder why he felt happy about seeing a dead body, but the alcohol took the edge off that, and then there was Lily.

At first he misheard her name because the bar was playing some hideous country ‘n’ western song at the kind of volume that should be banned unless it was saved for something decent, like Metallica or Zeppelin or, hell, anything except some yokel whining on about losing his girl. Dean thought she told him her name was Lilith, and his expression obviously registered his distaste because she pouted and asked him what was wrong.

Dean looked her up and down. Brunette, blue eyes, legs that went all the way up.

“Oh, there’s nothin’ wrong, sweetheart,” he replied with a smirk.

Lily sat beside him in the booth. They talked for two hours. She was majoring in Clinical Sciences at Kansas State University, so she was smart, and Dean liked that. She told him about her course, and her roommates, and Dean wondered if she was a little young for him before he realized most girls were too young for him these days because he was forty years older than thirty, even if they couldn’t see it. He nodded and smiled in all the right places; told her he was in town on a road trip with his brother; she asked him about his car and, well, it seemed only natural that he take her outside and show it to her.

He’d parked under some trees in an empty part of the lot, which came in pretty handy now as nobody would disturb them; even the streetlights seemed to shine somewhere else. Lily made all sorts of appreciative noises as she ran her hands over the smooth metal of the Impala, bending herself sinuously over to examine the grille – and oh yeah, Dean appreciated that view, alright – and then asked to see the interior.

The minute they were inside and kissing, Dean knew he couldn’t go through with it.

Lily was beautiful and funny and intelligent and hot beyond _belief_. She smelt like peaches and her lipstick tasted of strawberries. Her breath was sweet and the way she whispered into Dean’s ear was perfect; all breathy seduction and amazement as he ran his hands over her body, lingering on her breasts as they strained against the too-tight shirt she was wearing. But it wasn’t enough.

Dean broke off from a kiss to stare into her eyes, and they just weren’t blue enough. She smiled at him, licking her lips, but they were the wrong lips. She slinked across him until she sat in his lap, but she didn’t weigh enough. Everything was wrong. Everything.

“I’m sorry, Lily,” he apologized, as she leaned in to nip softly – too softly – at his neck. “This isn’t goin’ to happen. I can’t believe I’m actually saying this shit, but it’s not you. It’s _me._ ”

Lily wasn’t a happy camper after that, but Dean didn’t care. As she stalked across the car lot he slid into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel with sweaty hands. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there staring down at his knuckles, but after a while he started crying for the first time since he’d lost Castiel: great, heaving, wracking sobs that actually scared him because he never cried like that, not ever. By the time he’d finished, he was so tired he climbed into the back seat again and stretched out on the leather, too drunk and miserable to face Sam back at the motel. His brother found him there the next morning, but if he wondered about the tear streaks on his face, he didn’t say anything.

  
~ ~ ~

After nine months, Dean could look at arterial spray on the walls of a crime scene and feel nothing.

Then again, he felt nothing about a lot of things these days.

 

~ ~ ~

The nightmares receded. Dean had one, maybe two a month, although they were always pretty intense. In his dreams he drank blood and exalted in the taste. Sometimes he woke up hard, which was embarrassing whenever Sam woke up too and came over to check on him. He could usually will his erection away pretty quickly, however, because he was getting good at that. He hadn’t laid a hand on himself since he’d been cured. He was terrified that he’d come with the taste of imaginary blood on his tongue, and if he never had another orgasm ever again in order to prevent that from happening…. well, so be it.

Sometimes he wondered who the hell he was these days. Dean Winchester practising abstinence? Avoiding women? Dreaming about how his own brother’s lips had tasted on his mouth? Pining over an _angel?_ It was too much to handle at times, but the alcohol always helped.

Sam wasn’t happy about that, of course.

“Come on, Dean, you really need to stop this crap. You can’t go on drinking like this, man. You’re halfway to being an alcoholic already.”

“Don’t be dumb, Sam. Would I still be able to hunt if I was an alcoholic? Do I let it affect the job in any way? No. I don’t. And you know it.”

Sam picked up the empty bottle of JD from the bed and threw it in the trash, where it hit the base of the metal basket with a clang that rattled around the room. “You drink three bottles of whiskey a week, Dean, and then there’s all the beer on top. That’s not normal, you know that, right? You’ve been drunk every day for a year now! It might not be interfering with our hunts but it’s only a matter of time.”

Dean pulled off his shoes and frowned at a new hole in the toe of his sock. He really didn’t want an argument. He was pleasantly buzzed and it had been a long day. He needed to sleep, but Sam was on his high horse and was clearly waiting for Dean to whip it into a gallop. “Can we not do this now?” he asked plaintively, running a hand through his hair.

“Then when do we do it, Dean?” Sam sounded pissed. “When you wrap the car round a tree after driving drunk? When you miss a shot during a hunt and get me killed? When you make yourself sick? This isn’t good for your health, man. Your body can only take so much.”

“I’ll just have to get another angel to heal me then, won’t I?” Dean snapped bitterly, scowling up at him.

Sam sighed. “He wouldn’t want this,” he said, and it was perfectly clear who he meant.

Dean snorted and pulled back the covers on the bed, wrinkling his nose at the dull gray of the once-white sheets. “I’m sure Castiel’s happy that I’m enjoying myself, wherever he is. Alcohol’s better than blood, right?”

“It’s still an addiction,” Sam said softly. “And I doubt he’s happy. Can’t you just think about that for a while?”

Dean cursed and punched a pillow. “Why the hell do you think I drink in the first place, Sam?” he snarled, suddenly losing his temper. Goddamn it, Sam could be dense at times. He glared at him, seeing his brother’s eyes soften and his lips part as though he was going to say something, and then slammed his head onto the mattress and jammed the pillow over it. He didn’t want to hear another word.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Just as Dean thought Sam had given up, he heard him say again, “He wouldn’t want this.”

The lights went off. Dean didn’t sleep a wink that night.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The one creature they didn’t hunt over the course of that year was a vampire. Dean wondered if it was because Sam was deliberately avoiding hunts involving them or if there simply weren’t that many around; there was a reason why it had taken so many years before they’d first laid eyes on one. He had a sneaking suspicion that Sam would get a sniff of vampire activity and call Bobby, asking him to throw the hunt someone else’s way. Sometimes that annoyed him. Other times, Dean was grateful.

When they finally found themselves up to their necks in trouble in a vampire nest, neither of them had been expecting it.

There had been sacrifices: people found with their eyes and hearts gouged out, mysterious symbols carved into their bodies. Dean had assumed it was a demon and Sam had agreed. Whoever it was, they were clearly trying to summon a mystical entity whose arrival was supposed to signal death, destruction and all that jazz. If Dean had read the small print, however, he might have noticed one of the perks of the creature’s arrival was the fact it was destined to ‘hide the sun’ and ‘allow the bloodsuckers to feast’. The vampires were clearly trying to raise it so they could have some fun, and neither he nor Sam figured it out in time.

They walked into the boarded-up store, spotted the six vampires feeding on a trembling, tear-streaked woman and discovered that they were in way out of their depth. They were carrying guns, salt and holy water, but what they needed was machetes. Sam had the demon-killing knife, but it was too small to do any major damage to a vampire without taking time.

And there was something else they hadn’t been counting on, either: Dean freezing.

He stared down at the vampire’s victim, whose half-naked body was dotted with bitemarks. Her skin was deathly pale and she was barely semi-conscious. The vampires rose to their feet threateningly around her, all fangs and snarls, and Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from the blood on their chins. He thought he’d become immune to it, but seeing it like this… being in the presence of creatures so like himself… it was as though he was back in that room again, throwing Castiel against a wall and trying to suck him dry. He knew he should back away, run out into the sunlight and hope they wouldn’t follow; he felt Sam grab his arm and pull him, but he couldn’t move. Instead he licked his lips without thinking, the only movement his body seemed to want to make, and then the vampires attacked.

Dean was on the floor in a heartbeat. He heard Sam yelling and tried to fight them off but there were too many of them, strong hands holding him flat on the ground, yanking the gun from his hand and throwing it across the room. One of them ripped open his shirt and placed a hand over his heart, grinning at him with blood glistening on its fangs, and Dean found that he was so scared he couldn’t breathe. He knew exactly what was going through its head. Every last whim, every impulse; all that hunger and self-assuredness and pure, unadulterated _entitlement._

“Come to take us down, have you?” it hissed, as Sam let out a strangled yelp from somewhere behind Dean’s head. He struggled, opening his mouth to call his brother’s name, but suddenly there were teeth on his neck and the word turned into a gasp of pain as hot, warm blood sprayed his skin. It began to suck hungrily and the two remaining vampires lifted Dean’s wrists and bit him in unison, making him cry out again; but then all three of them stopped suddenly and leant back, pulling expressions that Dean couldn’t decipher.

“What’s wrong with him?” the first one asked, running a tongue across his lips. “He tastes fuckin’ _weird_.”

“Grows on you,” said another, staring down at Dean’s wrist with his brow furrowed. “Like it’s too sweet or something, but there’s a kick.”

“This one tastes funny too,” piped up a voice across the way, and Dean cursed as he realized Sam had been bitten, too. He couldn’t hear him and that worried him more than anything. Sam should’ve been fighting. Dean was the one who’d frozen up here, not his brother. Sam had the _knife,_ for the love of…

“Guess it runs in the family,” declared the first vampire before bending to suck at Dean’s neck again, the sensation powerful and fucked-up and wrong. Lips fell on his wrists and suddenly Dean knew he was going to die. _Fucking vampires,_ he thought furiously, his whole body shaking with anger. _I can’t let them do this to me again. I can’t!_ He started screaming for Sam but there was no reply, so he started screaming for Castiel instead, right up until his brain fuzzily remembered that there was no point. He bucked and thrashed beneath the three bodies holding him down but they were impossibly strong – _he’d been that strong once_ – and there was absolutely nothing he could do. Minutes passed and he felt his lifeblood drain away; the room started to feel less substantial, his head light and floaty. He was cold, he realized numbly, as the lips on his wrists slurped disgustingly. It was getting so cold… he was so tired…

And then the teeth in his flesh disappeared and so did the vampires. Dean opened his eyes and couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing – they were flying left and right, as though something was batting them off his body, and he heard screaming behind him as the vampires leaning over Sam were apparently dispensed of the same way. He managed to lift his head from the floor as there was a flash of light, a hideous cacophony of screams and then nothing. The vampires were gone.

Dean’s head thumped back on the floor. He blinked up at the ceiling, trying to summon the energy to move, but it wouldn’t come. _I’ve lost too much blood,_ he thought, dazed, wondering if Sam was in the same condition. _What the hell just happened?_

“Dean?”

For a moment he thought it was Sam because the voice was so familiar, but then his heart lurched as he realized it wasn’t. A figure leaned over him, fingers reaching down to press against his neck, and Dean found himself staring up at Castiel in absolute disbelief. The angel didn’t meet his gaze and his expression was stern. He looked… he looked…

“You’re alive,” Dean croaked, before hissing in a breath of pain as Castiel pressed too hard against the wound.

“And so are you,” Castiel replied with a frown. “But you’re hurt. I can stop the bleeding but you need fluids and rest. Do not drive. Look after your brother – he is injured too.”

“Cas?” Dean felt warmth building on his neck and the pain began to subside. He reached up and grabbed Castiel’s left arm, but he pulled away from him with a jerk and a small cry. “Cas?” Dean mumbled again, baffled.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Castiel said firmly, and a moment later he wasn’t.

 

~ ~ ~


	12. Chapter 12

~ ~ ~

 

“And he didn’t say anything else?” Sam asked later, when they’d crawled back to the motel, cleaned up and rested. Castiel had healed all of their wounds but they were still weak from bloodloss. Dean supposed he’d been in too much of a hurry to heal them completely. “He just showed up, saved our asses and disappeared? What the hell was that about?”

Dean shrugged; he’d been wondering the same thing himself, of course. “He said he couldn’t stay. Like he wasn’t supposed to see us. It’ll be just our luck if we got him into trouble again.”

Sam’s brows knitted together as he thought for a while, and then he smiled. “But he’s alive, man. That’s good news.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, remembering how he’d treated Castiel all those months ago. He wasn’t sure he could ever look him in the eye again. “I guess it is.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Dean kept expecting Castiel to turn up again, but days turned into weeks and there was no sign of him. He tried calling his name, his palms sweaty with anticipation and his stomach clenched in knots of fear, but nothing happened. In the end, he saw him while he was sleeping, just like in the old days when Castiel had seemed to enjoy walking in his dreams.

Dean found himself standing on the side of a mountain with a staggering view before him. The air was hard like knives in his chest, so clean and pure it made his head feel giddy. He stared at the scenery for a few minutes, wondering where he was and why, until a quiet voice said behind him, “Hello, Dean.”

He turned. Castiel was standing a few feet away, a small smile on his face. Dean felt a rush of surprise, followed by the knowledge that he was dreaming, and then a surge of worry. Castiel looked the same at first glance: the coat, the tie, the same messed-up hair. But as Dean stared it hit him that he was too pale and his face seemed pinched and gray. He looked exhausted, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. There was something about the way he was standing that didn’t seem right either, but Dean couldn’t figure it out because he was overcome at the sight of him. Tired or not, this was _Castiel._

“Where have you been, Cas?” he asked, spreading his hands beside him, and his voice was surprisingly small.

Castiel’s smile faded a little. “I was assigned a task. I have completed it now.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, expecting more information, but none appeared to be forthcoming. “Okay,” he said, uncertainly. “I assume it wasn’t a pleasant one.”

Castiel’s eyes fell to the floor and then back up again. “Your assumption would be correct.”

Dean took a step forward. He knew this was only a dream but he could feel his body trembling and nausea churning in his stomach; this felt real, every second of it. “I’m sorry, Castiel,” he offered, saying the words he’d been dying to say for over a year now. “It was my fault. I’m really, really sorry. For everything.”

“You have no cause to apologize, Dean,” Castiel assured him, his expression serious. “You weren’t in control of your actions. And it’s in the past now. You are not that creature any more.”

“You’re wrong. It’s still here.” Dean thumped his chest with his fist. “It’s inside of me, Cas. You cured me but the monster’s still there. It was there all along, the same thing that came out of me when I was in Hell. It’s just sleeping now, that’s all. Everything I said to you, all those things I did… I’m sorry for them, but the thing that made me do them hasn’t gone away.”

Castiel studied him thoughtfully. “You truly believe this?”

“Oh, I know it.” Dean’s voice was bitter.

The angel continued to stare at him. Dean tried to fathom what it was about the way he was holding himself that was different, but he couldn’t comprehend it, particularly when those eyes were focused on him so intently. After a while he had to look away, ashamed.

“You are a fool, Dean Winchester,” said Castiel eventually. “I knew you were many things, but a fool was not one of them.”

Dean’s head snapped round to look at him, but Castiel continued before he could protest. “You have been given a second chance,” the angel told him firmly, his eyes flashing cold ice. “You’ve actually been given several over the years; this is only the latest. You have been healed, Dean, and don’t you dare say you haven’t. Whatever you say is inside you now is merely ashes, the remnants of the old you. You have been cleansed many times over, but still you cling to your sins. If you don’t let go they’ll claim you again.”

“How do I let go, Cas?” Dean asked, feeling tears pricking at his eyes. “After everything I did… after what I nearly did to Sam, after all those things I said to you... how can I let it go?”

Castiel smiled again. “You simply have to let yourself be loved,” he declared, and before Dean could answer he was awake in the half-light of a motel room in Toledo and the mountains were a long, long way away.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Dean got drunk the next evening. Absolutely and thoroughly shit-faced. He went to a bar and drank until Sam came to get him and then he drank some more while Sam tried to persuade him to get some sleep. When his brother tried to take the bottle from his hand Dean attempted to hit him with it. He swore at him, calling him every name under the sun while Sam gritted his teeth and begged him to cool off. After an hour of insults Sam finally just scooped him up, arms and legs flailing, and dropped him in the bathtub, turning the shower on as cold as it would go to sober him up.

As far as Sam’s bright ideas went it probably wasn’t his greatest, but at least the water did the trick. Dean didn’t exactly sober up as he did come to his senses, the shock jerking him out of his misery. He glared up at his brother as he handed him a towel and stalked away; he could hear him in the next room, emptying the mini-bar and rifling through Dean’s bags for any alcohol he’d hidden there.

“This is going to stop, man,” Sam declared righteously, placing all the bottles into the trashcan, opening the door and leaving it outside. He turned back to face Dean as he wobbled out of the bathroom, dripping freezing water on the floor and leaning on the wall because his legs weren’t steady enough to support him without help.

“You got no right to do that,” Dean grumbled, staring behind him at the door. “What are you, my jailer? Am I in prison?”

“If that’s the way you want to play it, then yes. I’m not watching you drink your life away, man. I’ve had enough of this shit. You’ve seen Castiel twice now and you know he’s okay. I’m okay. Bobby’s okay. The goddamn _world’s_ okay. You’ve got no right to drink yourself into an early grave, Dean! You’ve got nothing to feel miserable about!”

Dean stared at him morosely, suddenly realizing that he couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. He had to tell Sam the thing that had been burning him up inside for so long. It was too big: it was eating him alive. It was always there, every day, and he’d never thought he’d tell anybody, but now he was drunk and miserable and Sam was staring at him defiantly and suddenly he was too exhausted to hide it for another second.

“I enjoyed being a vampire,” he said softly, feeling something inside him uncoil and snap into life as he finally said the words out loud. “I miss it, Sammy. I miss the blood and the power and the strength. _I enjoyed it._ ”

Once the words left his mouth he couldn’t believe he’d said them. Taking a deep breath, he waited for Sam’s expression to mutate into one of hatred. But his brother simply sighed and ran a hand over his face, pausing for a few moments before saying gently, “I know, Dean. I miss my powers too. But it doesn’t mean I’m evil and it doesn’t mean you are. We’re human and we went through something no human should ever have to go through, that’s all. It left scars.”

Dean stared at him numbly. “You miss it too?” he asked. “Even though it was bad?”

Sam nodded. “I felt like I could’ve taken on the world and won,” he said softly, his shoulders slumping. “How can you not miss feeling like that?”

Dean sat down on the bed, suddenly feeling cold and sick and tired beyond belief. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I wish none of this had happened to either of us. I’m so sorry, Sam.”

The mattress sank down as his brother sat beside him, placing a warm arm around his shoulder. “It’s okay now, Dean. You know it is. And so help me, if I hear you say sorry one more time I’m going to kick your ass.”

Dean huffed out a laugh which, embarrassingly, became a sob mid-way out of his throat. He heard Castiel’s voice in his head saying _you simply have to let yourself be loved_ and allowed Sam to pull him closer as he started to cry silently, lowering his head into his hands and letting everything go. Sam stroked his fingers through his hair and shushed him like he was a baby, but Dean didn’t mind. When he finally fell asleep he dreamt of the mountains and fresh, sweet air that rushed through him as though purifying his body.

 

~ ~ ~

 

It was Bobby’s birthday a few days later and they didn’t have a hunt lined up, so it seemed like a good time to pay him a visit. Dean couldn’t help but notice he didn’t have any alcohol in the house and so he assumed Sam had called him and arranged that beforehand, but he didn’t mind. He’d had enough of booze to last him a lifetime. He’d had enough of self-pity, too. He’d had enough, _period._ He wanted his life back.

They had a good night, reminiscing over past events without the layer of pain Dean always felt these days. Bobby talked about their dad fondly – stopping every now and then to call him a royal pain in the ass, of course – and Sam laughed more than Dean had seen him laugh since… well, since before he’d sold his soul to Lilith. It was wonderful, and Dean laughed too.

After Bobby went to bed and Sam muttered something about turning in himself, Dean decided he was too hyper to sleep. He wandered out into the salvage yard, surprised at how warm the night was. The air smelt strongly of night-blooming jasmine, the stars were bright and the lack of wind muted the sound of the trains in the distance to a faint susurration. He sat on the hood of a car and rested his hands on his knees, looking up at the sky. His fingers itched to hold something, probably a bottle of beer, but he was glad to leave them empty. He listened to insects chittering and owls calling to each other and closed his eyes, a feeling of unfamiliar serenity washing over him.

“I see you’re feeling better,” said Castiel, and Dean smiled before opening his eyes and turning to face him. The angel looked less tired than he had in the dream and his expression was peaceful, but there was something about him that was _off_ and Dean still couldn’t determine what it was. He was standing beside the car with one of his hands in his pockets and the other hanging limply at his side. As Dean stared at him, he smiled.

“I really missed you, you know,” Dean said honestly, after a pause. “A year’s a long time.”

Castiel lowered his eyes. “It’s longer than you think,” he said cryptically.

Dean frowned, puzzled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Castiel shook his head dismissively and looked up at him. “You are at peace now, Dean,” he observed, sounding genuinely happy. “I am glad.”

Dean twisted the ring on one of his fingers and thought about it. “Yeah, I think I am,” he agreed. “It took a while, but I think I got there.” He peered across at the angel. “Are you supposed to be here? Can you stay?”

Castiel hesitated and Dean’s stomach sank. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “Much has changed in Heaven since Lucifer was returned to Hell. Zachariah is no longer in command. There are others controlling my actions now, and they are still deciding how to proceed. They have allowed me some respite.”

“Please tell me they’re not dicks. Now King Dick has gone there’s gotta be some angels up there with a lick of sense between them.”

“They are not dicks,” Castiel assured him seriously. “If anything, they are merciful and just.”

“Glad to hear it.” Dean stared at Castiel for a few moments, just drinking in his presence, before asking, “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Castiel stiffened a little, pressing his lips together. “You don’t have to,” Dean assured him quickly. “It’s just… I was worried.”

“I was demoted,” Castiel said, after a strained pause. “I was given a task as a punishment and I wasn’t allowed to leave until it was finished.”

Dean nodded slowly. “And that task was…?”

Castiel licked his lips and looked away. “I was sent to Hell to capture and restrain Lucifer.”

That really wasn’t what Dean had been expecting him to say. “Oh,” he muttered, confused. “So how did that work, exactly? You pulled me out of the Pit easy enough, didn’t you? Did he put up a fight?”

“I found you while I was in my true form,” Castiel said darkly. “I had to remain in this body this time. I couldn’t depend on my holy light to burn my enemies or illuminate my path. I couldn’t fly because Zachariah clipped my wings. By the time I found Lucifer I was… compromised. We fought, and I very nearly lost.”

Dean fell silent, contemplating his words. “That sounds pretty shitty,” he observed, before a thought struck him and his eyes widened. “Oh… time moves differently down there. How long were you gone?”

Castiel looked up at the stars. “It wasn’t a long time for an angel.”

“We haven’t seen you for a year,” Dean said, ice settling in his stomach. “Were you there all that time? That’s gotta be a hundred years at least, Cas!”

“Lucifer was elusive,” Castiel said, closing his eyes. His head was tipped back and his neck shone pale in the moonlight. Dean stared at it, remembering far too much, but he clamped down on the feeling and suppressed a shudder.

“Are you okay?” he asked, because he had a feeling Castiel wasn’t.

“I am back now,” said Castiel. “That is all that matters.” He dropped his chin and stared across at Dean calmly. “I have not been forgiven, but I have served my penance. I pray there will be time for us now. I suspect there will be.”

“Us?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Castiel didn’t speak, but he gazed at him so eloquently that Dean didn’t have to ask again. He slid off the car and came to stand in front of the angel, placing a hand on his chest as though he was proving to himself that Castiel was actually there, solid and warm before him.

“We kind of did this all wrong the last time, what with me being a vampire ‘n’ all,” Dean said wryly. “I promise not to bite you this time.”

“Not unless I ask you to,” Castiel murmured, and kissed him.

Dean held his breath, still a little shocked that this was happening, before kissing him back. He moved his hand from Castiel’s chest to the back of his neck and dipped him nearer, letting out the breath as he realized he wasn’t going to pull away, and the whole world stopped until it was just the two of them standing under the moonlight amidst junked cars and twisted metal with the scent of jasmine strong in the air. It was tender. Sweet. Romantic. Dean was a cynic and he knew he should hate feeling like this – so open and vulnerable – but even a cynic needed a break every now and then.

And it was so different to the times they’d kissed before. It had been about power then: Dean trying to prove he was the strongest, or Castiel trying the same thing in return. Times had changed. This was the way it should have been from the start.

But it didn’t last, because when Dean placed his free hand on Castiel’s shoulder the angel suddenly shuddered and stepped backwards, his face creasing in pain. And, with a flash of realization, Dean understood what had been so weird about the way he’d been standing – why he’d seemed different. He’d been holding himself still. Keeping the pain at bay.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” he asked.

Castiel let out a sound that could have been a groan or an angry laugh; it was hard to tell. “It will heal,” he said tightly, sounding as though he was trying to convince himself of the fact.

“What happened?” Dean demanded, stepping closer to him.

“I spent a century in Hell, Dean,” Castiel reminded him bitterly. “And demons do not like angels.”

“So they hurt you in some way you couldn’t heal?”

“It will heal.” Again, Castiel didn’t sound convinced.

“What did they do?”

“Dean…” Castiel’s voice trailed off and he sighed. “It’s in the past. All of it.”

“Let me see.” Dean slipped his hands inside Castiel’s coat, running his palms up his chest until he could unhook the material from his shoulders. He pushed his jacket off next as Castiel lowered his head, allowing him to undress him, and he didn’t move an inch while Dean unbuttoned his shirt and eased that off too. There was nothing to see, however: whatever injury Castiel had received down his left side was invisible. His arm and shoulder seemed perfectly fine. Dean smoothed a hand down the arm as gently as he could, watching Castiel’s face intently to gauge his reaction, but it only took a few seconds for him to gasp and pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said sadly. “I guess it was too much to hope that you came out of this in one piece. I’m still amazed they didn’t kill you.”

“I’m a little amazed myself,” Castiel agreed wistfully, and he smiled. “I assume it’s because I did the right thing. We all did, in the end.”

“So you locked Lucifer away in his Hell-cage, then?” Dean asked, and Castiel nodded. “And Zachariah’s been given the boot. Sam’s fine. I’m fine. You’re alive, if a little battered.” He grinned. “On the whole, I’d say Operation Save The World was a success.”

“I agree,” Castiel nodded. “And I think a reward is in order.”

They kissed for so long that the trains eventually stopped clanking in the distance, the stupor of night-time settling around them as the world fell asleep. After a while they sank down to the ground – Dean carefully avoiding his partner’s injured arm – and soft sighs gave way to gentle laughs and delicate gasps as a man who was entirely human showed an angel who wasn’t what it meant to feel joy.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Sam couldn’t sleep. It was too hot in the guest room and he’d eaten way too much pizza that night, which was making him thirsty. For a long time he was too comfortable to move, but eventually he knew he’d have to get a glass of water or he’d never drop off. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretched, yawned and padded over to the window, pulling back the curtain and opening it as wide as it would go.

The air smelt of flowers and was pleasantly warm. He breathed it in gratefully, wondering why a salvage yard smelt like jasmine anyway, before he heard a muffled laugh and looked to see where it had come from.

The moon was bright enough to illuminate his brother and Castiel as they sat leaning against a car on the other side of the yard. Sam couldn’t hear what they were saying but he could understand plainly enough from their body language: they were both half-dressed, Dean’s leg slung comfortably over Castiel’s thigh, and as Sam watched Castiel lifted a hand in the air and held it palm-out before him. Dean raised his and they interlocked their fingers together, leaning in for a kiss before Dean said something and Castiel laughed.

They looked happy.

Sam stepped away from the window, sudden emotion burning deep inside his throat. It felt so good to see Dean like that – carefree, laughing, being intimate with someone who really cared about him. It made Sam feel as though he was going to overflow with relief, with gratitude, with love. After everything that had happened over the last two years – hell, over their lifetime – the fact that Dean had found a happy ending was too glorious to contemplate.

Sam sat on the end of his bed, buried his face in his hands and breathed hard for a few minutes, fighting back tears.

As it turned out, Dean wasn’t the only one who was happy.

 

~ ~ ~


End file.
